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University of Illinois Library 


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‘Lom Discovered by Velveteens. 


TOM BROWN'S 


PEHOOL DAYS. 


BY 


FHOMAS, HUGHES, 


AUTHOR OF “TOM BROWN AT OXFORD.” 


% 
NEW EDITION—BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATED. 


NEW YORK: 
JOHN WURTELE LOVELL, 


No. 24 Bonp STREET. 


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PREFACE 


TO THE SIXTH ENGLISH EDITION. 


I RECEIVED the following letter from an old friend soon 
after the last edition of this book was published, and resolved, 
if ever another edition were called for, to print it! For it is 
clear, from this and other like comments, that something more 
should have been said expressly on the subject of bullying, 
and how it is to be met: 


“ My DEAR ; 

“TI blame myself for not having carlier suggested whether you 
could not, in another edition of Tom Brown, or another story, de- 
nounce more decidedly the evils of d¢//yzng at schools. Youhave 
indeed done so, and in the best way, by making Flashman the bully 
the most contemptible character; but in that scene of the fosszng, 
and similar passages, you hardly suggest that such things should be 
stopped, and do not suggest any means of putting an end to them. 

“This subject has been on my mind for years. It fills me with 
grief and misery to think what weak and nervous children go 
through at school—how their health and character for life are 
destroyed by rough and brutal treatment. 

“Tt was some comfort to be under the old delusion that fear and 
aervousness can be cured by violence, and that knocking about 
will turn a timid boy into a bold one. But now we know well 
enough that is not true. Gradually training a timid child to do 
bold acts would be most desirable, but frightening him and ill- 
treating him will not make him courageous. Every medical man 


6 PREFACE. 


knows the fatal effects of terror, or agitation, or excitement, to 
nerves that are over-sensitive. There are different kinds of 
courage, as you have shown in your character of Arthur. 

“ A boy may have moral courage, and a finely-organized brain 
and nervous system. Such a boy is calculated, if judiciously edu- 
cated, to be a great, wise and useful man; but he may not possess 
animal courage, and one night’s Zossimg, or bullying, may produce 
such an injury to his brain and- nerves that his usefulness is 
spoiled for life. I verily believe that hundreds of noble organiza- 
tions are thus destroyed every year. Horse-jockeys have learned 
to be wiser; they know that a highly-nervous horse is utterly 
destroyed by harshness. A groom who tried to cure a shying 
horse by roughness and violence would be discharged as a brute 
and a fool. A man who would regulate his watch with a crowbar 
would be considered an ass. But the person who thinks thata 
child of delicate and nervous organization can be made bold by 
bullying is no better. 

“He can be made bold by healthy exercise and games and 
sports ; but that is quite a different thing. And even these games 
and sports should bear some proportion to his strength and 
capacities. 

“T very much doubt whether small children should play with 
big ones. The rush of a set of great fellows at foot-ball, or the 
speed of a cricket ball sent by a strong hitter, must be very alarm- 
ing to a mere child—to a child who might stand up boldly enough 
among children of his own size and height. 

“ Look at half-a-dozen small children playing cricket by them- 
selves ; how feeble are their blows, how slowly they bowl. You can 
in that way measure their capacity. 

“Tom Brown and his eleven were bold enough playing against 
an eleven of about their own calibre: but I suspect they would 
have been in a precious funk if they had played against eleven 
giants, whose bowling bore the same proportion to theirs that theirs 
does to the small children’s above. 

“To return to the fossévg. I must say, I think some means 
might be devised to enable school-boys to go to bed in quietness 
and peace, and that some means ought to be devised and enforced. 
No good, moral or physical, to those who bully or those who are 
bullied can ensue from such scenes as take place in the dormitories 
of schools. I suspect that British wisdom and ingenuity are suff- 


PREFACE. ” 


cient to discover a remedy for this evil, if directed in the right 
direction. 

“The fact is, the condition of a small boy at a large school is 
one of peculiar hardship and suffering. He is entirely at the mercy 
of proverbially the roughest beings in the universe—great school- 
boys: and he is deprived of the protection which the weak have in 
civilized society: for he may not complain; if he does, he is an out- 
law—he has no protector but public opinion, and that a public 
opinion of the very lowest grade—the opinion of rude and ignorant 
boys. 

“What do school-boys know of those deep questions of moral 
and physical philosophy, of the anatomy of mind and body, by 
which the treatment of a child should be regulated? 

** Why should the laws of civilization be suspended for schools ? 
Why should boys be left to herd together with no law but that of 
force or cunning? What would become of society if it were con- 
stituted on the same principles? It would be plunged into an- 
archy in a week. 

“One of our judges not long ago refused to extend the protec- 
tion of the law to a child who had been ill-treated at school. If a 
party of navvies had given /z7 a licking, and he had brought the 
case before a magistrate, what would he have thought if the magis- 
trate had refused to protect him, on the ground that if such cases 
were brought before him, he might have fifty a day from one town 
only? 

“Now, I agree with you that a constant supervision of the 
master is not desirable or possible, and that telling tales, or con. 
stantly referring to the master for protection, would only produce 
ill will and worse treatment. 

“Tf I rightly understand your book, it is an effort to improve 
the condition of schools by improving the tone of morality and 
public opinion in them. But your book contains the most indubit- 
able proofs that the condition of the younger boys at public schools, 
except under the rare, dictatorship of an Old Brooke, is one of great 
hardship and suffering. 

“A timid and nervous boy is from morning till night in a state 
of bodily fear. He is constantly tormented when trying to learn 
his lessons. His play-hours are occupied in fagging, in a horrid 
funk of cricket-balls and foot-balls, and the violent sport of creatures 
who, to him, are giants. He goes to his bed in fear and trembling, 


8 PREFACE. 


—worse than the reality of the rough treatment to which he is per- 
haps subjected. 

“I believe there is only one complete remedy. It is not in 
magisterial supervision, nor in telling tales, nor in raising the tone 
of public opinion among school-boys, but in the separation of boys 
of different ages into different schools. 

‘“ There should be at least ¢hvee different classes of schools,— 
the first for boys from nine to twelve; the second for boys from 
twelve to fifteen; and the third for those above fifteen. And these 
schools should be in different localities. 

“There ought to be a certain amount of supervision by the 
master at those times when there are special occasions for bullying, 
é.g. in the long winter evenings, and when the boys are congre- 
gated together in the bed-rooms. Surely it cannot be an impos- 
sibility to keep order and protect the weak at such times. What- 
ever evils might arise from supervision, they..could hardly be 
greater than those produced by a system which divides boys into 
despots and slaves. Ever yours very truly, 

Lae Cie 3 Bp 


The question of how to adopt English public school edu- 
cation to nervous and sensitive boys (often the highest and 
noblest subjects which that education has to deal with) ought 
to be looked at from every point of view.* [J therefore add a 
few extracts from the letter of an old friend and schoolfellow, 
than whom. no man in England is better able to speek on the 
subject. 


“‘ What’s the use of sorting the boys by ages, unless you do so 
by strength? And who are often the real bullies? The strong 
young dog of fourteen, while the victim may be one year or two 
years older. . .. I deny the fact about the bedrooms, There is 
trouble at times, and always will be; but so there is in nurseries. 


* For those who believe with me in public school education, the fact stated in the 
following extract from a note of Mr. G. De Bunsen will be hailed with pleasure, 
especially now that our alliance with Prussia (the most natural and healthy European 
alliance for Protestant England) is likely to be so much stronger and deeper than hereto. 
fore. Speaking of this book, he says,—‘‘ The author is mistaken in saying that public 
schools, in the English sense, are peculiar to England. Schul Pforte (in the Prussian 
province of Saxony) is similar in antiquity and institutions. I like his book all the more 
of having been there for five years.” 


PREFACE. 9 


My little girl, who looks like an angel, was bullying the smallest 
twice to-day. 


“Bullying must be fought with in other ways,—by getting not 
only the Sixth to put it down, but the lower fellows to scorn it, and 
by eradicating mercilessly the incorrigible ; and a master who really 
cares for his fellows is pretty sure to know instinctively who in his 
house are likely to be bullied, and knowing a fellow to be really 
victimized and harassed, I am sure that he can stop it if he is_re- 
solved. There are many kinds of annoyance—sometimes of real 
cutting persecution for righteousness’ sake—that he can’t stop; no 
more could all the ushers in the world ; but he can do very much 
in many ways to make the shafts of the wicked pointless. 

“But though, for quite other reasons, I don’t like to see very 
young boys launched at a public school, and though I don’t deny 
(I wish I could) the existence from time to time of bullying, I deny 
its being a constant condition of schoo! life. and still more the pos- 
sibility of meeting it by the means proposed. . . . 

“¢T don’t wish to underrate the amount of bullying that goes on, 
but my conviction is that i’ must be fought, like all school evils, but 
it more than any, by dynamics rather than mechanics—by getting 
the fellows to respect themselves and one another, rather than by 
sitting by them with < thick stick.” 


And now, having broken my resolution never to write a 
Preface, there are just two or three things which 1 should like 
to say a word about. 

Several persons, for whose judgment I have the highes* 
respect, while saying very kind things about this book, have 
added, that the great fault of it is, “too much preaching ;”’ 
but they hope [ shall amend in this matter should I ever write 
again. Now this I most distinctly decline to do. Why, my 
whole object in writing at all was to get the chance of preach- 
ing! When aman comes to my time of life and has his bread 
to make, and very little time to spare, is it likely that he will 
spend almost the whole of his yearly vacation in writing a story 
just to amuse people? I think not. At any rate, I wouldn’t 
do so myself. 

The fact is, that I can scarcely ever call on one of my con- 


18 PREFACE. 


temporaries nowadays without running across a boy already 
at school, or just ready to go there, whose bright looks and 
supple limbs remind me of his father, and our first meeting in 
old times. I can scarcely keep the Latin Grammar out of my 
own house any longer; and the sight of sons, nephews, and 
god-sons playing trap-bat-and-ball, and reading “ Robinson 
Crusoe,” makes one ask one’s self whether there isn’t some- 
thing one would like to say to them before they take their first 
plunge into the stream of life, away from their own homes, or 
while they are yet shivering after the first plunge. My sole 
object in writing was to preach to boys. If ever I write again, 
it will be to preach to some other age. I can’t see that a 
man has any business to write at all unless he has something 
which he thoroughly believes and wants to preach about. If 
he has this, and the chance of delivering himself of it, let him 
by all means put it in the shape in which it will be most likely 
to get a hearing ; but never Jet him be so carried away as to 
forget that preaching is his object. 

A black soldier, in a West India regiment, tied up to re- 
ceive a couple of dozen, for drunkenness, cried out to his cap- 
tain, who was exhorting him to sobriety in future, “ Cap’n, if 
you preachee, preachee ; and if floggee, floggee; but no 
preachee and floggee too!” to which his captain might have 
replied, ‘‘ No, Pompey, I must preach whenever I see a chance 
of being listened to, which I never did before ; so now you 
must have it all together: and I hope you may remember 
‘some of it.” 

There is one point which has been made by several of the 
reviewers who have noticed this book, and it is one which, as 
I am writing a Preface, I cannot pass over. They have 
stated that the Rugby undergraduates they remember at the 
universities were “a solemn array,” “boys turned into men 
before their time,” a “ a semi-political, semi-sacerdotal frater- 
nity,” &c., giving the idea that Arnold turned out a set of 
young square-toes, who wore long-fingered black gloves, and, 
talked with a snuffle. I can only say that their acquaintance > 
must have been limited and exceptional. For I am sure that 


’ 


PREFACE. ri 


every one who has had anything like large or continuous 
knowledge of boys brought up at Rugby, from the times of 
which this book treats down to this day, will bear me out in 
saying, that the mark by which you may know them is their 
genial and hearty freshness and youthfulness of character. 
They lose nothing of the boy that is worth keeping, but build 
up the man upon it. ‘This is their a@zfferentia as Rugby boys ; 
and if they never had it, or have lost it, it must be not be- 
cause they were at Rugby, but in spite of their having been 
there ; the stronger it is in them, the more deeply you may 
be sure they have drunk of the spirit of their school. 

But this boyishness, in the highest sense, is not incom- 
patible with seriousness—or earnestness, if you like the word 
better.* Quite the contrary. And I can well believe that 
casual observers, who have never been intimate with Rugby 
boys of the true stamp, but have met them only in the every- 
day society of the universities,—at wines, breakfast parties, 
and the like,—may have seen a good deal more of the serious 
or earnest side of their characters than any other. For the 
more the boy was alive in them, the less will they have been 
able to conceal their thoughts, or their opinion of what was 
taking place under their noses ; and if the greater part of that 
did not square with their notions of what was right, very 
likely they showed pretty clearly that it did not, at whatever 
risk of being taken for young prigs. They may be open to 
the charge of having old heads on young shoulders. I think 
they are, and always were, as long as I can remember ; but 
so long as they have young hearts to keep head and _ shoul- 
ders in order, I, for one, must think this only a gain. 

And what gave Rugby boys this character, and has enabled 
the School, I believe, to keep itto this day? Isay, fearlessly, 
Arnold’s teaching and example—above all, that part of it 
which-has been, I will not say sneered at, but certainly not 
approved—his unwearied zeal in creating “morai thought- 


* “ To him (Arnold) and his admirers we owe the substitution of the word ‘ earnest, 
for its predecessor ‘ serious.’ ’—Edinburgh Review, No. 217; p. 183+ 


12 PREFACE. 


fulness” in every boy with whom he came into personal - 
contact. 

He certainly dd teach us—thank God for it !—that we 
could not cut our iife into slices, and say, “In this slice your 
actions are indifferent, and you needn’t trouble your heads 
about them one way or another ; but in this slice mind what 
you are about, for they are important ”—a pretty muddle we 
should have been in had he done so. He taught us that in 
this wonderful world no boy or man can tell which of his 
actions is indifferent and which not; that by a thoughtless 
word or look we may lead astray a brother for whom Christ 
died. He taught us that life is a whole, made up of actions 
and thoughts and longings, great and small, noble and 
ignoble ; therefore the only true wisdom for boy or man is to 
bring the whole life into obedience to Him whose world we 
live in, and who has purchased us with His blood ; and that 
whether we eat or drink, or whatsoever we do, we are to do 
all in His name and to his glory,—in such teaching, faithfully, 
as it seems to me, following that of Paul of Tarsus, who was 
in the habit of meaning what he said, and who laid down this 
standarel for every man and boy in his time. I think it lies 
with those who say that such teaching will not do for us now, 
to show why a teacher in the nineteenth century is to preach 
a lower standard than one in the first. 

However, I won’t say that the reviewers have not a certain 
plausible ground for their dicta. For a short time after a boy 
has taken up such a life as Arnold would have urged upon 
him, he has a hard timeof it. He finds his judgment often at 
fault, his body and intellect running away with him into all 
sorts of pitfalls, and himself coming down with acrash. The 
more seriously he buckles to his work, the oftener these mis- 
chances seem to happen ; and in the dust of his tumbles and 
struggles, unless he is a very extraordinary boy, he may often 
be too severe on his comrades, may think he sees evil in things 
innocent, may give offence when he never meant it. At this 
stage of his career, I take it, our reviewer comes across him, 
and, not looking below the surface (as a reviewer ought to do), 


PREFACE. 13 


at once sets the poor boy down for a prig and a Pharisee, when 
in all likelihood he is one of the humblest and truest and most 
childlike of the reviewer’s acquaintance. 

But let our reviewer come across him again in a year or 
two, when the “ thoughtful life”? has become habitual to him, 
and fits him as easily as his skin; and, if he be honest, I 
think he will see cause to reconsider his judgment. For he 
will find the boy, grown into a man, enjoying every-day life, 
as no man can who has not found out whence comes the cap- 
acity for enjoyment, and who is the Giver of the least of the 
good things of this world,—humble, as no man can be who 
has not proved his own powerlessness to do right in the 
smallest act which he ever had to do,—tolerant, as no man 
can be who does not live daily and hourly in the knowledge of 
how Perfect Love is forever about his path, and bearing with 
and upholding him. 


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CON TE ENS Tp: 


FAR ESEIRS &. 


CHAPTER. ; Pace 
I.—THE BROWN FAMILY “ ; ; : : ‘ 17 
I].—THE VEAST : ° ; : : : : : : 38 
III.—SunDRY WARS AND ALLIANCES : ‘ Dries : 62 
IV.—THE STAGE COACH . ‘ ; - ‘ : : 87 
V.—RUGBY AND FOOT-BALL : - , : . SOS 
VI.—AFTER THE MATCH . ety ta SEY see - “ESS 
VIL—SETTLING TO THE COLLAR is 158 
VIII.—THE WarR OF INDEPENDENCE . ° - ; . Lod 
IX.—A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS . 3 . : . es ©: 


PART SECOND. 


I.—How THE TIDE TURNED oa on pie one meal fe 
II.—TuHE New Boy . : : ; . . . : 259 
III.— ARTHUR MAKES A FRIEND , 3 277. 
IV.—THE BIRD-FANCIERS . ; ; ° ‘ : . : 206 
V.—THE FIGHT F . . : ° . : : 6 gt4 
VI.—FEVER IN THE SCHOOL . : y ° : ° Baas ihe: 


VII—Harry East’s DILEMMAS AND DELIVERANCES : « = 4300 
VIII.—Tom Brown’s Last MATCH 
IX.—FINIS 2 e ° ’ 9 


,% 


* 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


BY AN OLD BOY. 


COA] Bret 


¢*7’m the Poet of White Horse Vale, sir, 


With liberal nations under my cap.”’ 
Ballad. 


THE Browns have become illustrious by the pen of 
Thackeray and the pencil of Doyle, within the memory 
of the young gentlemen who are now matriculating at 
the Universities. Notwithstanding the well-merited but 
late fame which has now fallen upon them, any one at 
all acquainted with the family must feel that much has 
yet to be written and said before the British nation will 
be properly sensible of how much of its greatness it owes 
to the Browns. For centuries, in their quiet, dogged, 
homespun way, they have been subduing the earth 
in most English counties, and leaving their mark in 
American forests and Australian uplands. Wherever 
the fleets and armies of England have won renown, there 
the stalwart sons of the Browns have done yeomen’s work. 
With the yew-bow and cloth-yard shaft at Cressy and 

2 


(17) 


18 LOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


Agincourt—with the brown billand pike under the brave 
Lord Willoughby —with culverin and demi-culverin 
against Spaniards and Dutchmen—with hand-grenade 
and sabre, and musket and bayonet, under Rodney and 
St. Vincent, Wolfe and Moore, Nelson and Wellington, 
they have carried their lives in their hands ; getting hard 
knocks and hard work in plenty, which was on the whole 
what they had looked for, and the best thing for them ; 
and little praise or pudding, which indeed they, and most 
of us, are better without. Talbots, and Stanleys, St 
Maurs, and such like folk, have led armies and made 
laws time out of mind; but those noble families would 
be somewhat astounded, if the accounts ever came to be 
fairly taken, to find how small their work for England 
has been by the side of that of the Browns, 

These latter, indeed, have until the present genera- 
tion rarely been sung by poet or chronicled by sage. 
They have wanted their “ sacer vates,’ having been too 
solid to rise to the top by themselves, and not having 
been largely gifted with the talent of catching hold of, 
and holding on tight to, whatever good things happened 
to be going—the foundation of the fortunes of so many 
noble families. But the world goes on its way, and the 
wheel turns, and the wrongs of the Browns, like other 
wrongs, seem in a fair way to get righted. And this 
present writer, having for many years of his life been a 
devout Brown-worshipper, and moreover having the honor 
of being nearly connected with an eminently respectable 
branch of the great Brown family, is anxious, so far as 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 19 


in him lies, to help the wheel over, and throw his stone 
on to the pile. 

However, gentle reader, or simple reader, whichever 
you may be, lest you should be led to waste your pre- 
cious time upon these pages, I make so bold as at ance 
to tell you the sort of folk you'll have tomeet and put up 
with, if you and I are to jog on comfortably together. 
You shall hear at once what sort of folks the Browns 
are, at least my branch of them; and then if you don’t 
like the sort, why cut the concern at once, and let you 
and I cry quits before either one of us can grumble at 
the other. 

In the first place, the Browns are a fighting family. 
One may question their wisdom, or wit, or beauty, but 
about their fight there can be no question. Wherever 
hard knocks of any kind, visible or invisible, are going, 
then the Brown who is nearest must shove in his carcase. 
And these carcases for the most part answer very well to 
the characteristic propensity ; they are a square-headed 
and snake-necked generation, broad in the shouider, deep 
in the chest, and thin in the flank, carrying no lumber. 
‘Then for clanship, they are as bad_as Highlanders ; it is 
amazing the belief they have in one another. With 
them there is nothing like the Browns, to the third and 
fourth generation. “ Blood is thicker than water,” is one 
of their pet sayings. They can’t be happy unless they 
are always meeting one another. Never were such 
people for family gatherings, which, were you a stranger, 
or sensitive, you might think had fetter not have been 


20 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


gathered together. For during the whole time of their 
being together, they luxuriate in telling one another their 
minds on whatever subject turns up ; and their minds are 
wonderfully antagonistic, and all their opinions are down- 
right beliefs. Tull you’ve been among them some time 
and understand them, you can’t think but that they are 
quarrelling. Nota bit of it; they love and respect one 
another ten times the more after a good set family 
arguing bout, and go back, one to his curacy, another to 
his chambers, and another to his regiment, freshened for 
work, and more than ever convinced that the Browns 
are the height of company. 5 | 

This family training, too, combined with their turn 
for combativeness, makes them eminently quixotic. 
They can’t let anything alone which they think going 
wrong. They must speak their mind about it, annoying 
all easy-going folk, and spend their time and money in 
having a tinker at it, however hopeless the job. It is an 
impossibility to a Brown to leave the most disreputable 
lame dog on the other side of a stile. Most other folk 
get tired of. such work. The old Browns, with red faces, 
white whiskers, and bald heads, go on believing and 
fighting toa green old age. They have always a crotchet 
going, till the old man with the scythe reaps and garners 
them away for troublesome old boys, as they are. 

And the most provoking thing is, that no failures 
knock them up, or make them hold their hands, or think 
you, or me, or other sane people, in the right. Failures 
slide off them like July rain off a-duck’s back feathers. 


chee 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 5% 


Jem and his whole family turn out bad, and cheat them 
one week, and the next they are doing the same thing 
for Jack : and when he goes to the treadmill, and his wife 
and children to the workhouse, they will be on the look- 
out for Bill to take his place. | 


However, it is time for us to get from the general to 
the particular ; so, leaving the great army of Browns, 
who are scattered over the whole empire on which the 
sun never sets, and whose general diffusion I take to be 
the chief cause of that empire’s stability, let us at once 
fix our attention upon the small nest of Browns in which 
our hero was hatched, and which dwelt in that portion 
of the royal county of Berks which is called the Vale of 
the White Horse. 

Most of you have probably travelled down the Great 
Western Railway as far as Swindon. Those of you who 
did so with your eyes open, have been aware, soon after 
leaving the Didcot station, of a fine range of chalk hills 
running parallel with the railway on the left-hand side as 
you go down, and distant some two or three miles, more 
or less, from the line. The highest point in the range is 
the White Horse Hill, which you come in front of just 
before you stop at the Shrivenham station. If you love 
English scenery, and have a few hours to spare, you 
can’t do better, the next time you pass, than stop at the 
Farringdon-road or Shrivenham station, and make your 
way to that highest point. And those who care for the 
vague old stories that haunt country sides all about 
England, will not, if they are wise, be content with only 


22 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


a few hours’ stay; for, glorious as the view is, the 
neighborhood is yet more interesting for its relics of 
bygone times. I only. know two English neighborhoods 
thoroughly, and in each, within a circle of five miles, 
there is enough of interest and beauty to last any reason- 
able man his life. I believe this to be the case almost 
throughout the country, but each has a special attraction, 
and none can be richer than the one I am speaking of 
and going to introduce you to very particularly ; for on 
this subject I must be prosy; so those that don’t care 
for England in detail may skip the chapter. 

Oh young England! young England! You who are-- 
born into these racing railroad times, when there's a 
Great Exhibition, or some monster sight, every year ; 
and you can get over a couple of thousand miles of 
ground for three pound ten, in a five weeks’ holiday ; 
why don’t you know more of your own birth-places? 
You're all in the ends of the earth, it seems to me, as 
soon as you get your necks out of the educational collar, 
for midsummer. holidays, long vacations, or what not. 
Going round Ireland with a return ticket, in a fortnight ; 
dropping your copies of Tennyson on the tops of Swiss 
mountains; or pulling down the Danube in Oxford 
racing-boats. And when you get home for a quiet fort- 
night, you turn the steam off, and lie on your backs in 
the paternal garden, surrounded by the last batch of 
books from Mudie’s library, and half bored to death. 
Well, well! I know it has its good side. You all patter . 
French more or less, and. perhaps German; you have 


TOM BROWWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 23 


seen men and cities, no doubt, and have your opinions, 
such as they are, about schools of painting, high art, and 
all that; have seen the pictures at Dresden and the 
Louvre, and know the taste of sour krout. All I say is, 
you don’t know your own lanes and woods and fields. 
Though you may be chock full of science, not one in 
twenty of you knows where to find the wood-sorrel or 
bee-orchis, which grow in the next wood, or on the down 
three miles off, or what the log-bean and wood-sage are 
good for. And as for the country legends, the stories 
of the old gable-ended farm-houses, the place where the 
last skirmish was fought in the civil wars, where the 
parish butts stood, where the last highwayman turned to 
bay, where the last ghost was laid by the parson, they’re 
gone out of date altogether. 

Now, in my time, when we got home by the old coach 
which put us down at the cross roads with our boxes, the 
first day of the holidays, and had been driven off by the 
family coachman, singing ‘‘ Dulce domum” at the top of 
our voices, there we were, fixtures, till black Monday 
came around. We had to cut out our own amusements 
within a walk or ride of home. And so we got to know 
all the country folk, and their ways and songs and stories, 
by heart ; we went over the fields, and woods, and hills, 
again and again, till we made friends of them all. We 
were Berkshire, or Gloucestershire, or Yorkshire boys, 
and you're young cosmopolites, belonging to all counties 
and no countries. No doubt it’s all right—I dare say it 
is. This is the day of large views and glorious humanity, 


24 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


and all that ; but I wish back-sword play hadn’t gone out 
in the Vale of White Horse, and that that confounded 
Great Western hadn’t carried away Alfred’s Hill to make 
an embankment. 

But to return to the said Vale of White Horse, the 
country in which the first scenes of this true and inter- 
esting story are laid. As I said, the Great Western now 
runs right through it, and it is a land of large rich pas- 
tures, bounded by ox-fences, and covered with fine hedge- 
row timber, with here and there a nice little gorse or 
spinney, where abideth poor Charley, having no other 
cover to which to betake himself for miles and miles, 
when pushed out some fine November morning by the 
old Berkshire. Those who have been there, and well 
mounted, only know how he and the staunch little pack 
who dash after him—heads high and sterns low, with a ~ 
breast-high scent—can consume the ground at such times. 
There being little plough-land and few woods, the Vale 
is only an average sporting country, except for hunting. 
The villages are straggling, queer, old-fashioned places, 
the houses being dropped down without the least regu- 
larity, in nooks and out-of-the way corners, by the sides 
of shadowy lanes and footpaths, each with its patch of 
garden. They are built chiefly of good gray stone and 
thatched; though I see that within the last year or two 
the red-brick cottages are multiplying, for the Vale is be- 
ginning to manufacture largely both brick and tiles. 
There are lots of waste ground by the side of the roads 
in every village, amounting often to village greens, where 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 25 


feed the pigs and ganders of the people; and these roads 
are old-fashioned, homely roads, very dirty and_ badly 
made, and hardly endurable in winter, but still pleasant, 
jog-trot roads running through the great pasture lands, 
dotted here and there with little clumps of thorns, where 
the sleek kine are feeding, with no fence on either side 
of them, and a gate at the end of each field, which makes 
you get out of your gig (if you keep one), and gives you 
a chance of looking about you every quarter of a mile. 

One of the moralists whom we sat under in my 
youth,—was it the great Richard Swiveller, or Mr. Stig- 
gins ?—says, “ We are born in a vale, and must take the 
consequences of being found in such a situation.” These 
consequences I, for one, am ready to encounter. I pity 
people who weren’t born inavale. I don’t mean a flat 
country, but a vale; that is, flat country bounded by 
hills. This having your hill always in view if you choose 
to turn towards him, that’s the essence of a vale. There 
he is forever in the distance, your friend and companion ; 
you never lose him as you do in hilly districts. ~ 

And then what a hill is the White Horse Hill! There 
it stands right up above all the rest, nine hundred feet 
above the sea, and the boldest, bravest shape for a chalk 
hill that you ever saw. Let us go up to the top of him, 
and see what is to be foundthere. Ay, you may well 
wonder, and think it odd, you never heard of this before ; 
but, wonder or not, as you please, there are hundreds of 
such things lying about England, which wiser folks than 
you know nothing of, and care nothing for. Yes, it’s a 


26 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


magnificent Roman camp, and no mistake, with gates, 
and ditch, and mounds, all as complete as it was 
twenty years after the strong old rogues left it. Here, — 
right upon the highest point, from which they say you 
can see eleven counties, they trenched round all the table- 
land, some twelve or fourteen acres, as was their custom, 
for they couldn't bear anybody to overlook them, and 
made their eyrie.\“ The ground falls away rapidly on all 
sides. Was there ever such a turf in the whole world ? 
You sink up to your ankles at every step, and yet the 
_ spring of it is delicious. There is always a breeze in the 
“camp,” as it is called, and here it lies, just as the Ro- 
mans left it, except that cairn on the east side, left by 
her Majesty's corps of Sappers and Miners the other 
day, when they and the Engineer officer had finished 
their sojourn there, and their surveys for the Ordnance 
Map of Berkshire. It is altogether a place that you 
won't forget—a place to open a man’s soul and make him 
prophesy, as he looks down on that great vale spread 
out as the garden of the Lord before him, and wave on 
wave of the mysterious downs behind; and to the right 
and left the chalk hills running away into the distance, 
along which he can trace for miles the old Roman road, 
“the Ridgeway” (“ the Rudge,’ as the country folk call 
it), keeping straight along the highest back of the hills ; 
—such a place as Balak brought Balaam to, and told him 
_ to prophesy against the people in the valley beneath. 
And he could not, neither shall you, for they are a peo- 
ple of the Lord who abide there. : 


TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-WA YS. i 


And now we leave the camp, and descend towards 
the west, and are on the Ash-down. We are treading 
on heroes. It is sacred ground for Englishmen, more 
sacred than all but one or two fields where their bones lie 
whitening. For this is the actual place where our Al- 
fred won his great battle, the battle of Ash-down (““Aéscen- 
dum” in the chroniclers), which broke the Danish power, 
and made England a Christian land. The Danes held the 
camp and the slope where we are standing—the whole 
crown of the hill infact. “ The heathen had beforehand 
seized the higher ground,” as old Asser says, having 
wasted everything behind them from London, and being 
just ready to burst down on the fair vale, Alfred’s own 
birth-place and heritage. And up the heights came the 
Saxons, as they did at the Alma. ‘“ The Christians led 
up their line from the lower ground. There stood also 
on that same spot a single thorn-tree, marvellous stumpy 
(which we ourselves with our own eyes have seen).” 
Bless the old chronicler! does he think nobody ever saw 
the “single thorn-tree” but himself? Why, there it 
stands to this very day, just on the edge of the slope, and 
I saw it not three weeks since ; an old single thorn-tree, 
“marvellous stumpy.” At least if it isn’t the same tree, 
it ought to have been, for it’s just in the place where the 
battle must have been won or lost—“ around which, as I 
“was saying, the two lines-of foemen came together in 
battle with a huge shout. And in this place, one of the 
two kings of the heathen and five of his earls fell down 
and died, and many thousands of the heathen side in the 


28 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


same place.”’* After which crowning mercy, the pious 
king, that there might never be wanting a sign and me- 
morial to the country-side, carved out on the northern 
side of the chalk hill, under the camp, where it is almost 
precipitous, the great Saxon white horse, which he who 
will may see from the railway, and which gives its name 
to the vale, over which it has looked these thousand years 
or more. 

Right down below the White Horse is a curious deep 
and broad gully, called “The Manger,” into one side of 
which the hills fali with a series of the most lovely 
sweeping curves, known as “ The Giant’s Stairs ;” they 
are not a bit like stairs, but I never saw anything like 
them anywhere else, with their short green turf and ten- 
der blue-bells, and gossamer and thistle-down gleaming 
in the sun, and the sheep-paths running along their sides 


~ 


like ruled lines. 


The other side of the Manger is formed by the 
Dragon’s Hill, a curious little round, self-confident fel- 
low, thrown forward from the range, and utterly unlike 
everything around him. On this hill some deliverer of 
mankind—St. George, the country folk used to tell me— 


* “ Pagani editiorem Jocum preoccupaverant, Christiani ab inferiori loco aciem 
dirigebant. Erat quoque in eodem loco unica spinosa arbor, brevis admodum (quam 
nos ipsi nostris propriis oculis vidimus). Circa quam ergo hostiles inter se acies 
cum ingenti clamore hostiliter conveniunt. Quo in locoalter de duobus Paganorum 
regibus et quinque comites occisi occubuerunt, et multa millia Pagane partis in 
eodem loco. Cecidit illic ergo Baegsceg Rex, et Sidroc, ille senex comes, et Sidroc 
Junior comes, et Obsbern comes,”, &c.—Annales Rerum Gestarum El fredi 


Magni, Auctore Asserio. Recensuit Franciscus Wise. O ford, 1722, p. 23. 


~ 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 29 


killed a dragon. Whether it were St. George, I cannot 
say; but surely a dragon was killed there, for you may 
see the marks yet where his blood ran down, and more 
by token the place where it ran down is the easiest way 
up the hillside. , 

Passing along the Ridgeway to the west for about a 
mile, we come to a little clump of young beech and firs, 
with a growth of thorn and privet underwood. Here 
you may find nests of the strong down partridge and 
peewit, but take care that the keeper isn’t down upon 
you; and in the middle of it is an old cromlech, a huge 
flat stone raised on seven or eight others, and led up to 
by a path, with large single stones set up on each side. 
This is Wayland Smith’s cave, a place of classic fame 
now; but.as Sir Walter has touched it, I may as well 
let it alone, and refer you to Kenilworth for the legend. 

The thick deep wood which you see in the hollow, 
about a mile off, surrounds Ash-down Park, built by 
Inigo Jones. Four broad alleys are cut through the 
wood from circumference to centre, and each leads to 
one face of the house. The mystery of the downs hangs 
about house and wood as they stand there alone, so un- 
like all around, with green slopes, studded with great 
stones just about this part, stretching away on all sides. 
It was a wise Lord Craven, I think, who pitched his 
tent there. 

Passing along the Ridgeway to the east, we soon 
come to cultivated land. The downs, strictly so called, 


are no more ; Lincolnshire farmers have been imported, 


30 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


and the long fresh sldpes! are sheep-walks no more, but 
grow famous turnips and barley. One of these improv- 
ers lives over there at the “Seven Barrows” farm, 
another mystery of the great downs. There are the 
barrows still, solemn and silent, like ships in the calm 
sea, the sepulchres of some sons of men. But of whom? 
It is three miles from the White Horse, too far for the 
slain of Ash-down to be buried’ there—who »shall say 
what heroes are waiting there? But we must get down 
into the vale again, and so away by the Great Western 
Railway to town, for time and the printer’s devil press, 
and it is a terribly long and slippery descent, and a 
shocking bad road. At the bottom, however, there is a 
pleasant public, whereat we must really take a modest 
quencher, for the down air is provocative of thirst. So we 
pull.up under an old oak which stands before the door. 

“What is the name of your hill, landlord ?” 

“Blawing Stwun Hill, sir, to be sure.” 

[READER. “ Sturm?” 

AuTuHor. “ Stone, stupid: the Blowing Scone.” ] 

“And of your house? I can’t make out the sign.” 

“Blawing Stwun, sir,” says the landlord, pouring out 
his old ale from a Toby Philpot jug, with a melodious 
crash, into the long-necked glass. 

“What queer names!” say we, sighing at the end of 
our draught, and holding out the glass to be replenished. 

~“Be’ant queer at all, as I can see, sir,” says mine 
host, handing back our glass, “seeing as this here is the 
Blawing Stwun his self,” putting his hand on a square 


- 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 31 


lump of stone, some three ee and a half high, perforated 
with two or three queer holes, like petrified antediluvian 
rat-holes, which lies there close under the oak, under 
our very nose. We are more than ever puzzled, and 
drink our second glass of ale, wondering what will come 
next. “Like to hear un, sir?” says mine host, setting 
down Toby Philpot on the tray, and resting both hands 
on the “Stwun.” We are ready for anything; and he, 
without waiting for a reply, applies his mouth to one of 
the rat-holes. Something must come of it, if he doesn’t — 
burst. Good heavens! I hope he has no apoplectic 
tendencies. Yes, here it comes, sure enough, a grewsome 
sound between a moan and a roar, and spreads itself 
away over the valley, and up the hillside, and into the 
woods at the back of the house, a ghost-like awful voice. 
“Um do say, sir,’ says mine host, rising, purple-faced, 
while the moan is still coming out of the Stwun, “as 
they used in old times to warn the country-side, by 
blawing the Stwun when the enemy was a-comin—and 
as how folks could make un heered then for seven mile 
round ; leastways, so I’ve heered lawyer Smith say, and 
he knows a smart sight about them old times.” We 
can hardly swallow lawyer Smith's seven miles, but could 
the blowing of the stone have been a summons, a sort of 
sending the fiery cross round the neighborhood in the 
old times? What old times? Who knows? We pay 
for our beer, and are thankful. 

“ And what’s the name of the village just below, 
landlord?” 


32 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


“ Kingstone Lisle, sir.” 

“Fine plantations you’ve got here !” 

“Yes, sir; the Squire’s ’mazin’ fond of trees and 
such like.” 

. “No wonder. He’s got some real beauties to be 

fond of. Good day, landlord.” 

“Good day, sir, and a pleasant ride to ’e.” 

And now, my boys, you whom I want to get for 
readers, have you had enough? Will you give in at 
once, and say you're convinced, and let me begin my 
story, or will you have more of it? Remember, I’ve only 
been over a little bit of the hillside yet, that you could 
ride round easily on your ponies in an hour. I’m only 
just come down into the vale, by Blowing Stone Hill, and 
if I once begin about the vale, what’s to stop me? You'll 
have to hear all about Wantage, the birth-place of Alfred, 
and Farringdon, which held out so long for Charles the 
First (the vale was near Oxford, and dreadfully malig- 
nant; full of Throgmortons, and Puseys, and Pyes, and 
such like, and their brawny retainers). Did you ever 
read Thomas Ingoldsby’s “ Legend of Hamilton Tighe ?” 
If you haven’t, you ought to have. Well, Farringdon is 
where he lived before he went to sea; his real name was 
Hamden Pye, and the Pyes were the great folk at Far- 
ringdon. Then there’s Pusey. You've heard of the 
Pusey horn, which King Canute gave to the Puseys of 
that day, and which the gallant old squire, lately gone to 
his rest (whom Berkshire freeholders turned out of last 
Parliament, to their eternal disgrace, for voting accord- 


LOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 33 


ing to his conscience), used to bring out on high days 
and holidays, and bonfire nights. And the splendid old 
Cross church at Uffington, the Uffingas town,—how the 
whole country-side teems with Saxon names and memo- 
ries! And the old moated grange at Compton, nestled 
close under the hillside, where twenty Marianas may 
have lived, with its bright water-lilies in the moat, and 
its yew walk, “the Cloister walk,” and its peerless ter- 
raced gardens. There they all are, and twenty things 
besides, for those who care about them, and have eyes. 
And these are the sort of things you may find, I believe, 
every one of you, in any common English country 
neighborhood. - 

Will you look for them under your own noses, or will 
you not? Well, well; I’ve done what I can to make you, 
and if you will go gadding over half Europe now every 
hoilday, I can’t help it. I was born and bred a west- 
countryman, thank God!—a Wessex man, a citizen of 
the noblest Saxon kingdom of Wessex, a regular “ Angu- 


bs 


Jar Saxon,” the very soul of me “adscriptus glebee.’ 
There’s nothing like the old country-side for me, and no 
music like the twang of the real old Saxon tongue, as one 
gets it fresh from the veritable chaw in the White Horse 
Vale ; and I say with “Gaarge Ridler,” the old west- 


country yeoman, 


“Throo aall the waarld owld Gaarge would bwoast 
Commend me to merry owld England mwoast: 
While vools gwoes prating vur and nigh, 

We stwops at whum, my dog and I.” 


3 


34 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS, 


Here, at. any rate, lived and stopped at home Squire 
Brown, J.P. for the county of Berks, in a village near the 
foot of the White Horse range. And here he dealt out 
justice and mercy in a rough way, and begat sons and 
daughters, and hunted the fox, and grumbled at the bad- 
ness of the roads and the times. And his wife dealt out 
stockings, and calico shirts, and smock frocks, and com- 
forting drinks to the old folks with “ the rheumatiz,” and 
good counsel to all ; and kept the coal and clothes clubs 
going, for Yuletide, when the bands of mummers came 
round, dressed out in ribbons and colored paper caps, and 
stamped round the Squire's kitchen, repeating, in true 
sing-song vernacular, the legend of St. George and his 
fight, and the ten pound doctor, who plays his part at 
healing the saint,—a relic, I believe, of the old middle- 
age mysteries. It was the first dramatic representation 
which greeted the eyes of little Tom, who was brought 
down into the kitchen by his nurse to witness it, at the 
mature age of three years. Tom was the eldest child of 
his parents, and from his earliest babyhood exhibited 
the family characteristics in great strength. He wasa 
hearty, strong boy from the first, given to fighting with 
and escaping from his nurse, and fraternizing with all 
the village boys, with whom he made expeditions all 
round the neighborhood. And here in the quiet old- 
fashioned country village, under the shadow of the ever- 
lasting hills, Tom Brown was reared, and never left it till 
he went first to school when nearly eight years of age, 
—for in those days change of air twice a year was not 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 35 


thought absolutely necessary for the health of all her 
Majesty's lieges. 

I have been credibly informed, and am inclined to 
believe, that the various boards of directors of railway 
companies, those gigantic jobbers and bribers, while 
quarrellins about everything else, agreed together, some 
ten years back, to buy up the learned profession of 
medicine, body and soul. To this end they set apart 
several millions of money, which they continually dis- 
tribute judiciously amongst the doctors, stipulating only 
this one thing, that they shall prescribe change of air to 
every patient who can pay, or borrow money to pay, a 
railway fare, and see their prescription carried out. If 
it be not for this, why is it that none of us can be well 
at home for a year together? It wasn’t so twenty years 
ago,—not a bit of it. The Browns didn’t go out of the 
country once in five years. A visit to Reading or 
Abingdon twice a year, at Assizes or Quarter Sessions, 
which the Squire made om his horse with a pair of 
saddle-bags containing his wardrode-—a stay of a day or 
two at some country neighbor’s—or an expedition toa 
country ball, or the yeomanry review—made up the sum 
of the Brown locomotion in most years. A stray 
Brown from some distant county dropped in every now 
and then; or from Oxford, on grave nag, an old don, 
ccn‘emporary of the Squire ; and were looked upon by 
the Brown household and the villagers with the same 
sort of feeling with which we now regard a man who has 


crossed the Rocky Mountains, or launched a boat on the 


36 TOM BROWN’S --HOOL-DA YS. 


Great Lake in Central Africa. The White Horse Vale, 
remember, was traversed by no great road—nothing but 
country parish -oads, and thesc very bad. Only one 
coach ran there, and this only from Wantage to Lor 
don, so that the western part of the Vale was without 
regular means of moving on, and certainly didn’t seem 
to want them. There was the canal, by the way, which 
supplied the country side with oal, and up and down 
which continually went the long barges, with. the big 
black men lounging by the side of the horses along the 
towing-path. and the women in bright-colored handker- 
chiefs standing in the sterns steering. Standing, I say, 
but you could never see whether they were ‘standing or 
sitting, all but their heads and shoulders being out of 
sight, in the cozy little cabins which occupied some 
eight feet of the stern, and whic!: Tom Brown pictured to 
himself as the most desirable of residences. His nurse 
told him that those good-natured-looking women were in 
the constant habit of enticing* children into the barges, 
and taking them up to London and selling them, which 
Tom wouldn't believe, and which made him resolve as 
soon as possible to accept the oft-proffered invitation of 
these sirens to “ young Master.” to come in and have a 
ride. But as yet the nurse was too much for [om. 

Yet why should [, after all, abuse the gadabout pro- 
pensities of my countrymen? We are a vagabond na- 
tion now, that’s certain, for better, for worse. I am a 
vagabond; I have been away froia home ao less than 
five distinct times in the last year. The Queen sets us 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DA YS. 37 


the example—-we are moving on from top to bottom. 
Little dirty Jack, who abides in Clement’s Inn gateway, 
and blacks my boots for a penny, takes his month’s hop- 
picking every year as a matter of course. Why 
shouldn’t he? I’m delighted at it. I love sagabonds, 
only I prefer poor to rich ones ;—couriers and _ ladies’ 
maids, imperials and travelling carriages, are an abom- 
ination unto me-—T cannot away with them. But for 
dirty Jack, and every good fellow who, in the words of 
the capital French song, moves about, 
“ Comme le limagon, 


Portant tout son bagage, 


Ses meubles, sa maison,” 


on his own back, why, good luck to them, ana many a 
merry roadside adventure, and steaming supper in the 
roadside inns, Swiss chalets, Hottentot kraals, or wher- 
ever else they like to go. So having succeeded i con- 
tradicting myself in my first chapter (which gives me 
great hopes that you will all go on, and think me x good 
fellow notwithstanding my crotchets), I shall here shut 
up for the present, and consider my ways; having re- 
solved to ‘sar’ it out,’ as we say in the Vale, “ holus- 
bolus,” just as it comes, and then you'll probably get the 
truth out of me. 


38 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


CHAPEERSIE 


THE VEAST. 


* And the King commandeth and forbiddeth, that from henceforth neither fairs nor 
markets be kept in churchyards, for the honor of the Church.’’—Statutes: 13 Edw. I 


Stat. 11. cap. vI. 


As that venerable and learned poet (whose voluminous 
works we all think it the correct thing to admire and talk 
about, but don’t often read) most truly says, “ the child 
is father to the man ” a fortzori, therefore, he must be 
father to the boy. So, as we are going at any rate to see 
Tom Brown through his boyhood, supposing we never 
get any further (which, if you show a proper sense of the 
value of this history, there is no knowing but what we 
may), let us have a look at the life and environments of 
the child, in the quiet country village to which we were 
introduced in the last chapter. 

Tom, as has been already said, was a robust and com- 
bative urchin, and at the age of four began to struggle 
against the yoke and authority of his nurse. That 
functionary was a good-hearted, tearful, scatter-brained 
girl, lately taken’ by Tom’s mother, Madam Brown, as 
she was called, from the village school to be trained as 
nursery-maid. Madam Brown was a rare trainer of ser- 
vants, and spent herself freely in the profession ; for pro- 
fession it was, and gave her more trouble by half than 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 39 


many people take to earn a good income. Her servants 
~ were known and sought after for miles round. Almost 
all the girls who attained a certain place in the village 
school were taken by her, one or two at a time, as house- 
maids, laundry-maids, nursery-maids, or kitchen-maids, 
and after a year or two’s drilling, were started in life 
among the neighboring families, with good principles and 
. wardrobes. One of the results of this system was the 
perpetual despair of Mrs. Brown’s cook and own maid, 
who no sooner had a notable girl made to their hands, 
than Missus was sure to find a good place for her and 
send her off, taking in fresh importations from the school. 
Another was, that the house was always full of young 
girls, with clean shining faces, who broke plates and 
scorched linen, but made an atmosphere of cheerful 
homely life about the place, good for every one who 
came within its influence. Mrs. Brown loved young 
people, and in fact human creatures in general, above 
plates and linen. They were more like a lot of elder 
children than servants, and felt to her more as a 
mother or aunt than as a mistress. 

Tom’s nurse was one who took in her instruction very 
slowly,—she seemed to have two left hands and no head ; 
and so Mrs. Brown kept her on longer than usual, that 
she might spend her awkwardness and forgetfulness 
upon those who would not judge and punish her too 
strictly for them. 

Charity Lamb was her name. It had been the im- 
memorial habit of the village to christen children either 


40 TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DAVS. 


by Bible names, or by those of the cardinal and other 
virtues ; so that one was forever hearing in the village | 
street, or on the green, shrill sounds of “ Prudence! 
Prudence! thee cum’ out o’ the gutter;” or, “ Mercy! 
drat the girl, what bist thee a doin’ wi’ little Faith?” and 
there were Ruths, Rachels, Keziahs, in every corner. 
The same with the boys 3 they were Benjamins, Jacobs, 
Noahs, Enochs. . I suppose the custom has come down — 
from Puritan times—there it is, at any rate, very strong 
still in the Vale. 

Well, from early morn till dewy eve, when she had it 
out of him in the cold tub before putting him to bed, 
Charity and Tom were pitted against one another. 
Physical power was as yet on the side of Charity, but she 
hadn’t a chance with him wherever head-work was 
wanted. This war of independence began every morn- 
ing before breakfast, when Charity escorted her charge 
to a neighboring farm-house which supplied the Browns, 
and where, by his mother’s wish, Master Tom went to 
drink whey before breakfast. Tom had no sort of ob- 
jection to whey, but he had a decided liking for curds, 
which were forbidden as unwholesome, and there was 
seldom a morning that he did not manage to secure a 
handful of hard curds, in defiance of Charity and of the 
farmer’s wife. The latter good soul was a gaunt angular 
woman, who, with an old black bonnet on the top of her 
head, the strings dangling about her shoulders, and her 
gown tucked through her pocket-holes, went clattering 
about the dairy, cheese-room, and yard, in high pattens. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. At 


Charity was some sort-of niece of the old lady’s, and was 
consequently free of the farm-house and garden, into 
which she could not resist going for. the purposes of 
gossip and flirtation with the heir-apparent, who was a 
dawdling fellow, never out at work as. he ought to have 
been. The moment Charity had found her cousin, or 
any other occupation, Tom would slip away; and in a 
minute shrill cries would be heard from the dairy, 
“Charity ! Charity! thee lazy hussy, where bist ?”’ and 
Tom would break cover, hands and mouth full of curds, 
and take refuge on the shaky surface of the great muck 
reservoir in the middle of the yard, disturbing the repose 
of the great pigs. Here he was in safety, as no grown 
person could follow without getting over the knees ; and‘ 
the luckless Charity, while her aunt scolded her from the 
dairy door, for being “allus hankering about arter our 


’ 


Willum, instead of minding Master Tom,” wou!'d descend 
from threats to coaxing, to lure Tom out of the muck, 
which was rising over his shoes, and would soon tell a 
tale-on his stockings, for which she would be sure to 
catch it from the missus’ maid. 

Tom had two abettors in the shape of a couple of 
old boys, Noah and Benjamin by name, who defended 
him from Charity, and expended much time upon his 
education. They were both of them retired servants of 
former generations of the Browns. Noah Crooke was a 
keen dry old man of almost ninety, but still able to totter 
about. He talked to fom quite as if he were one of his 
own family, and indeed had long completely identified 


42 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


the Browns with himself. In some remote age he had 
been the attendant of a Miss Brown, and had conveyed 
her about the country ona pillion. He hada little round 
picture of the identical gray horse, caparisoned with the 
identical pillion, before which he used to do a sort of 
fetish worship, and abuse turnpike roads and carriages. 
He wore an old full-bottomed wig, the gift of some dandy ~ 
old Brown whom he had valeted in the middle of the 
last century, which habiliment Master Tom looked upon 
with considerable respect, not to say fear ; and indeed 
his whole feeling towards Noah was strongly tainted 
with awe; and when the old gentleman was gathered to 
his fathers, Tom’s lamentation over him was not un- 
‘accompanied by acertain joy at having seen the last 
of the wig. “Poor old Noah! dead and gone,” said 
he ; “Tom Brown so sorry! Put him in the coffin, wig 
and all.” 

But old Benjy was young Master’s real delight and 
refuge. He was a youth by the side of Noah, scarce 
seventy years old—a cheery, humorous, kind-hearted old 
man full of sixty years of Vale gossip, and all sort of heip- 
ful ways for young and old, but above all for children. It 
was he who bent the first pin with which Tom extracted 
his first stickleback out of “ Pebbly Brook,” the little 
stream which ran through the village. The first stickle- 
back was a splendid fellow, with fabulous red and blue 
gills. Tom kept him in a small basin till the day of his 
death and became a fisherman from that day. Within a 
month from the taking of the first stickleback, Benjy had 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 43 


carried off our hero to the canal, in defiance of Charity, 
and between them, after a whole afternoon’s popjoying, 
they had caught three or four small coarse fish anda 
perch, averaging perhaps two and a half ounces each, 
which Tom bore home in rapture to his mother as a 
precious gift, which she received, like a true mother, 
with equal rapture, instructing the cook, nevertheless, in 
a private interview, not to prepare the same for the 
Squire’s dinner. Charity had appealed against old Benjy 
in the mean time, representing the dangers of the canal 
banks ; but Mrs. Brown, seeing the boy’s inaptitude for 
female guidance, had decided in Benjy’s favor, and from 
henceforth the old man was Tom’s dry-nurse. And as 
they sat by the canal watching their little green and 
white float, Benjy would instruct him in the doings of 
deceased Browns. How his grandfather, in the early 
days of the great war, when there was much distress and 
crime in the Vale, and the magistrates had been threat- 
ened by the mob, had ridden in with a big stick in his 
hand, and held the Petty Sessions by himself. How his 
great uncle, the Rector, had encountered and laid the 
last ghost, who had frightened the old women, male and 
female, of the parish out of their senses, and who turned 
out to be the blacksmith’s apprentice, disguised in drink 
and a white sheet. It was Benjy, too, who saddled 
Tom’s first pony, and instructed him in the mysteries of 
horsemanship, teaching» him to throw his weight back 
and keep his hand low, and who stood chuckling outside 
the door of the girls’ school, when Tom rode his little 


44 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DIA YS. 


Shetland into the cottage and round the table, where the 
old dame and her pupils were seated at their work. 
Benjy himself was come of a family distinguished in 
the Vale for their prowess in all athletic games. Some 
half-dozen of his brothers and kinsmen had gone to the 
wars, of whom only one had survived to come home, 
with a small pension, and three bullets in different parts 
of his body ; he had shared Benjy’s cottage till his death, 
and had left him his old dragoon’s sword and pistol, which 
hung over the mantlepiece, flanked by a pair of heavy 
single-sticks, with which Benjy himself had won renown 
long ago as an old gamester against the picked men of 
Wiltshire and Somersetshire, in many a good bout at the 
revels and pastimes of the country-side. For he had 
been a famous back-sword man in his young days, and a 
good wrestler at elbow and collar. 
Back-swording and wrestling were the most serious 


holiday pursuits of the Vale,—those by which men at- 
tained fame,—and each village had its champion. I sup- 


pose that on the whole people were less worked than 
they are now; at any rate, they seemed to have more 
time and energy for the old pastimes. The great times 
for back-swording came round once a year in each vil- 
lage, at the feast. The Vale “veasts” were not the 
common statute feasts, but much more ancient business 
They are literally, so far as one can ascertain, feast. 
of the dedication, z. 2. they were first established in the 
churchyard on the day on which the village church was 
opened for public worship, which was on the wake or 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. A5 


festival of the patron saint, and have been held on the 
same day in every year since that time. 

There was no longer any remembrance of why the 
“veast” had been instituted, but nevertheless it had a 
pleasant and almost sacred character of its own. For it 
was then that all the children of the village, wherever 
they were scattered, tried to get home for a holiday to 
visit their fathers and mothers and friends, bringing 
with them their wages or some little gift from up the 
country for the old folk. Perhaps for a day or two be- 
fore, but at any rate on “veast day” and the day after, 
in our village, you might see strapping healthy young 
men and women from all parts of the country going 
round from house to house in their best clothes, and fin- 
ishing up with a call on Madam Brown, whom they would 
consult as to putting out their earnings to the best ad- 
vantage, or how to expend the same best for the benefit 
of the old folk. Every household, however poor, man- 


) 


aged to raise a “feast-cake” and bottle of ginger or 
raisin wine, which stood on the cottage table ready for 
all comers, and not unlikely to make them remember 
feast-time,—for feast-cake is very solid, and full of huge 
raisins. Moreover, feast-time was the day of reconcilia- 
tion for the parish. If Job Higgins and Noah Freeman 
hadn’t spoken for the last six months, their “old women ” 
would be sure to get it patched up by that day. And 
though there was a good deal of drinking and low vice 
in the booths of an evening, it was pretty well confined 


to those who would have been doing the like “veast or 


46 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


no veast,’ and on the whole the effect was humanizing 
and Christian. In fact, the only reason why this is not 
the case still, is that gentlefolk and farmers have taken 
- to other amusements, and have, as usual, forgotten the 
poor. They don’t attend the feasts themselves, and call 
them disreputable, whereupon the steadiest of the poor 
leave them also, and they become what they are called. 
Class amusements, be they for dukes or ploughboys, al- 
ways become nuisances and curses to a country. The 
true charm of cricket and hunting is, that they are still 
more or less sociable and universal; there’s a place for 
every man who will come and take his part. 

No one in the village enjoyed the approach of “ veast 
day”’ more than Tom, in the year in which he was taken 
under old Benjy’s tutelage. The feast was held in a 
large green field at the lower end of the village. The 
road to Farringdon ran along one side of it, and the 
brook by the side of the road ; and above the brook was 
another large gently-doping pasture-land, with a foot 
path running down it from the churchyard ; and the old 
church, the originator of all the mirth, towered up with 
its gray walls and lancet windows, overlooking and sanc- 
tioning the whole, though its own share therein had been 
forgotten. At the point where the footpath crossed the 
brook and road, and entered on the field where the feast 
was held, was a long, low roadside inn, and on the oppo- 
site side of the field was a large white-thatched farm- 
house, where dwelt an old sporting farmer, a great pro- 
- moter of the revels. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-LA YS. 47 


Past the old church, and down the footpath, pottered 
the old man and the child hand in hand early on the 
afternoon of the day before the feast, and wandered all 
round the ground, which was already being occupied by 
the “cheap Jacks,” with their green covered carts and 
marvellous assortment of wares, and the booths of more 
legitimate small traders, with their tempting arrays of 
fairings and eatables! and penny peep-shows and other 
shows, containing pink-eyed ladies, and dwarfs, and boa- 
constrictors, and wild Indians. But the object of most 
interest to Benjy, and of course to his pupil also, was 
the stage of rough planks, some four feet high, which 
was being put up by the village carpenter for the back- 
swording and wrestling ; and after surveying the whole 
tenderly, old Benjy led his charge away to the roadside 
inn, where he ordered a glass of ale and a long pipe for 
himself, and discussed these unwonted luxuries on the 
bench outside on the soft autumn evening with mine 
host, another old servant of the Browns, and speculated 
with him on the likelihood of a good show of old game- 
sters to contend for the morrow’s prizes, and told tales 
of the gallant bouts of forty years back, to which Tom 
listened with all his ears and eyes. 

But who shall tell the joy of the next morning, when 
the church bells were ringing a merry peal, and old 
Benjy appeared in the servants’ hall, resplendent in a 
long blue coat and brass buttons, and a pair of old yel- 
low buckskins and top-boots, which he had cleaned for 
and inherited from Tom’s grandfather—a stout thorn- 


48 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


stick in his hand and a nosegay of pinks and lavender 
in his button-hole—and led Tom away in his best 
clothes, and two new shillings in his breeches-pockets ? 
Those two, at any rate, look like enjoying the day’s 
revel. 

_ They quicken their pace when they get into the 
churchyard, for already they see the field thronged with 
country folk, the men in clean white smocks or velveteen 
or fustian coats, with rough plush waistcoats of many 
colors, and the women in the beautiful long scarlet 
cloak, the usual out-door dress of west-country women 
in those days, and which often descended in families 
from mother to daughter, or in new-fashioned stuff 
shawls, which, if they would but believe it, don’t become 
them half so well. The air resounds with the pipe and 
tabor, and the drums and trumpets of the showmen 
shouting at the doors of their caravans, over which 
tremendous pictures of the wonders to be seen within 
hang temptingly ; while through all rises the shrill 
‘“root-too-too-too” of Mr. Punch, and the unceasing 
pan-pipe of his satellite. 

“Lawk a’ massy! Mr. Benjamin,” cries a stout 
motherly woman in a red cloak, as they enter the field ; 
“be that you? Well I never! you do look purely. And 
how’s the Squire, and Madam, and the family ?” 

Benjy graciously shakes hands with the speaker, who 
has left our village for some years, but has come over 
for Veast-day on a visit to an old gossip—and gently in- 
dicates the heir-apparent of the Browns. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 49 


“Bless his little heart! I must gi’ una kiss. Here, 
Susannah, Susannah!” cries she, raising herself from 
the embrace, “come and see Mr. Benjamin and young 
Master Tom. You minds our Sukey, Mr. Benjamin; 
she be growed a rare slip of a wench since you seen her. 
tho’ her’ll be sixteen come Martinmas. I do aim to take 
her to see Madam to get her a place.” 

And Sukey comes bouncing away from a knot of 
old school-fellows, and drops a curtsey to Mr. Benjamin. 
And elders come up from all parts to salute Benjy, and 
girls who have been Madam’s pupils to kiss Master Tom. 
And they carry him off to load him with fairings; and 
he returns to Benjy, his hat and coat covered with rib- 
bons, and his pockets crammed with wonderful boxes, 
which open upon ever new boxes and boxes, and pov- 
guns and trumpets, and apples, and gilt gingerbread 
from the stall of Angel Heavens, sole vendor thereof, 
whose booth groans with kings and queens, and elephants, 
and prancing steeds, all gleaming with gold. There was 
more gold on Angel’s cakes than there is ginger in those 
of this degenerate age. Skilled diggers might yet make 
a fortune in the churchyards of the Vale, by carefully 
washing the dust of the consumers of Angel's ginger- 
bread. Alas! he is with his namesakes, and his receptsi 
have, I fear, died with him. | 

And then they inspect the penny peep-show, at least 
Tom does, while old Benjy stands outside and gossips, 
and walks up the steps, and enters the mysterious doors 


of the pink-eyed lady and the Irish Giant, who do not 
4 


80 TOM BROWWN’S SCHOOL-DA ¥S. 


by any means come up to their pictures ; and the boa 
will not swallow his rabbit, but there the rabbit is wait- 
ing to be swallowed—and what can you expect for tup- 
pence? Weare easily pleased in the Vale. Now there 
is arush of the crowd, and a tinkling bell is heard, and 
shouts of laughter ; and Master Tom mounts on Benjy’s 
shoulders, and beholds a jingling match in all its glory 
The games are begun, and this is the opening of them. 
It is a quaint game, immensely amusing to look at, and 
as I don’t know whether it is used in your counties, I 
had better describe it. A large roped ring is made, into 
which are introduced a dozen or so of big boys and 
young men who mean to play; these are carefully 
blinded and turned loose into the ring, and then a man 
is introduced not blindfolded, with a bell hung round his 
neck, and his two hands tied behind him. Of course 
every time he moves, the bell must ring, as he has no 
hand to hold it, and so the dozen blindfolded men have 
to catch him. This they cannot always manage if he is 
a lively fellow, but half of them always rush into the 
arms of the other half, or drive their heads together, or 
tumble over ; and then the crowd laughs vehemently, 
and invents nicknames for them on the spur of the mo- 
ment, and they, if they be choleric, tear off the hand- 
kerchiefs which bind them, and not unfrequently pitch 
into one another, each thinking that the other must have 
run against him on purpose. It is great fun to look at 
the jingling match, certainly, and Tom shouts and jumps 
on old Benjy’s shoulders at the sight, until the old man 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 51 


feels weary, and shifts him to the strong young shoul- 
ders of the groom, who has just gone down to the fun. 

And now, while they are climbing the pole in an- 
other part of the field, and muzzling in a flour-tub in 
another, the old farmer whose house, as has been said, 
overlooks the fields, and who is master of the revels, 
gets up the steps on to the stage, and announces to all 
whom it may concern that a half-sovereign in money 
will be forthcoming for the old gamester who breaks 
most heads; to which the Squire and he have added a 
new hat. 

The amount of the prize is sufficient to stimulate the 
men of the immediate neighborhood, but not enough to 
bring any very high talent from a distance; so, after a 
glance or two round, a tall fellow, who is a down shep- 
herd, chucks his hat on to the stage and climbs up the 
steps, looking rather sheepish. The crowd of course at 
first cheer, and then chaff as usual, as he picks up his 
hat and begins handling the sticks, to see which will 
suit him. 

“Wooy, Willum Smith, thee canst play wi’ he arra 
daay,” says his companion to the blacksmith’s appren- 
tice, a stout young fellow’of nineteen or twenty. Wil- 
lum’s sweetheart is in the “ veast”” somewhere, and has 
strictly enjoined him not to get his head broken at back- 
swording, on pain of her highest displeasure ; but as she 
is not to be seen (the women pretend not to like to see 
this back-sword play, and keep away from the stage), 
and as his hat is decidedly getting old, he chucks it on 


U. Gr iLL. LIB. 


52 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


to the stage, and follows himself, hoping that he will 
only have to break other people’s heads, or that after all 
Rachel won't really mind. 

Then follows the greasy cap, lined with fur, of a half- 


gypsy, poaching, loafing fellow, who travels the Vale not 
for much good, J fancy: 


“ Full twenty times was Peter feared 
For once that Peter was respected, 


in fact. And then three or four other hats, including 
the glossy castor of Joe Willis, the self-elected and 
would-be champion of the neighborhood, and a well-to-do 
young butcher of twenty-eight or thereabouts, and a great 
strapping fellow, with his full allowance of bluster. 
This is a capital show of gamesters, considering the 
amount of the prize; so while they are picking their 
sticks and drawing their lots, I think I must tell you, as 
shortly as I can, how the noble old game of back-sword 
is played, for it is sadly gone out of late, even in the 
Vale, and maybe you have never seen it. 

The weapon is a good stout ash stick with a large 
basket-handle, heavier and somewhat shorter than a 
common single-stick. The players are called “old 
gamesters,’—why, I can’t tell,you,—and their object is 
simply to break one another’s heads: for the moment 
that blood runs an inch anywhere above the eyebrow, 
the old gamester to whom it belongs is beaten, and has 
to stop. A very slight blow with the sticks will fetch 
blood, so that it is by no means a punishing pastime, if 
the men don’t play on purpose, and savagely, at the 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 63 


body and arms of their adversaries. The old gamester 
going into action only takes off his hat and coat, and 
arms himself with a stick; he then loops the fingers of 
his left hand in a handkerchief or strap, which he 
fastens round his left leg, measuring the length, so that 
when he draws it tight with his left elbow in the air, 
that elbow shall just reach as high as his crown. Thus 
you see, so long as he chooses to keep his left elbow up, 
regardless of cuts, he has a perfect guard for the left 
side of his head. Then he advances his right hand 
above and in front of his head, holding his stick across 
so that its point projects an inch or two over his left 
elbow, and thus his whole head is completely guarded, 
and he faces his man armed in like manner, and they 
stand some three feet apart, often nearer, and feint, and 
strike, and return at one another’s heads until one cries 
“hold,” or blood flows; in the first case they are al- 
lowed a minute’s time, and go on again; in the latter, 
another pair of gamesters are called on. If good men 
are playing, the quickness of the returns is marvelious ; 
you hear the rattle like that a boy makes drawing his 
stick along palings, only heavier, and the closeness of 
the men in action to one another gives it a strange in- 
terest, and makes a spell at back-swording a very noble 
sight. | 
They are al] suited now with sticks, and Joe Willis 
and the gypsy man have drawn the first lot. So the 
rest lean against the rails of the stage, and Joe and the 
dark man meet in the middle, the boards having been 


54. TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


strewed with sawdust; Joe’s white shirt and spotless 
drab breeches and boots contrasting with the gypsy’s 
coarse blue shirt and dirty green velveteen breeches and 
leather gaiters. Joe is evidently turning up his nose at 
the other, and half insulted at having to break his head. 

The gypsy is a tough, active fellow, but not very 
skillful with his weapon, so that Joe’s weight and 
strength tell in a minute; he is too heavy metal for 
him: whack, whack, whack, come his blows, breaking 
down the gypsy’s guard, and threatening to reach his 
head every moment. There it is at last —“ Blood, 
blood!” shout the spectators, as a thin stream oozes 
out slowly from the roots of his hair, and the umpire 
calls to them to stop. The gypsy scowls at Joe under 
his brows in no pleasant manner, while Master Joe 
swaggers about, and makes attitudes, and thinks himself, 
and shows that he thinks himself, the greatest man in 
the field. 

Then follow several stout sets-to between the other 
candidates for the new hat, and at last come the shep- 
herd and Willum Smith. This is the crack set-to of 
the day. They are both in famous wind, and there is 
no crying “hold;” the shepherd is an old hand and up 
to all the dodges; he tries them one after another, and 
very nearly gets at Willum’s head by coming in near, 
and playing over his guard at the half-stick; but some- 
how Willum blunders through, catching the stick on his 
shoulders, neck, sides, every now and then, anywhere 


but on his head, and his returns are heavy and straight ; 


TOM BROWWN’S SCHOOL-DA JS. 5 


he is the youngest gamester and a favorite in the parish, 
and his gallant stand brings down shouts and cheers, 
and the knowing ones think he’ll win if he keeps steady, 
and Tom, on the groom’s shoulder, holds his hands to- 
gether, and can hardly breathe for excitement. 

Alas for Willum! his sweetheart, getting tired of 
female companionship, has been hunting the booths to 
see where he can have got to, and now catches sight of 
him on the stage in full combat. She flushes and turns 
pale ; her old aunt catches hold of her, saying, “ Bless’ee, 
child, doan’t’ee go a’nigst it;”” but she breaks away and 
runs towards the stage, calling his name. Willum keeps 
up his guard stoutly, but glances for a moment towards 
the voice. No guard will doit, Willum, without the eye. 
The shepherd steps round and strikes, and the point of 
his stick just grazes Willum’s forehead, fetching off the 
skin, and the blood flows, and the umpire cries “ Hold!” 
and poor Willum’s chance is up for the day. But he 
takes it very well, and puts on his old hat and coat, and 
goes down to be scolded by his sweetheart, and led away 
out of mischief. Tom hears him say coaxingly, as he 
walks off— 

“ Now doan’t’ee, Rachel! I wouldn’t ha’ done it, 
only I wanted summut to buy’ee a fairing wi’, and I be 
as vlush o’ money as a twod o’ veathers.” 

“Thee mind what I tells’ee,” rejoins Rachel, saucily, 
“and doan’t’ee kep blethering about fairings.” Tom re- 
solves in his heart to give Willum the remainder of his 
two shillings after the back-swording. 


50 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


Joe Willis has all the luck to-day. His next bout 
ends in an easy victory, while the shepherd has a tough 
job to break his second head ; and when Joe and the 
shepherd meet, and the whole circle expect and hope to 
see him get a broken crown, the shepherd slips in the 
first round and falls against the rails, hurting himself 50 
that the old farmer will not let him go on, much as he 
wishes to try ; and that impostor Joe (for he is certainly 
not the best man) struts and swaggers about the stage © 
the conquering gamester, though he hasn't had five min- 
utes’ really trying play. 

Joe takes the new hat in his hand, and puts the money 
into it, and then, as if a thought strikes him, and he 
doesn’t think his victory quite acknowledged down below, 
walks to each face of the stage, and Jooks down, shaking 
the money, and chaffing, as how he'll stake hat and money 
and another half sovereign “agin any gamester as hasn’t 
played already.” Cunning Joe! he thus gets rid of Wil- 
Jum and the shepherd, who is quite fresh again. 

No one seems to like the offer, and the umpire is just 
coming down, when a queer old hat, something like a 
doctor of divinity’s shovel, is chucked on to the stage, and 
an elderly quiet man steps out, who has been watching 
the play, saying he should like to cross a stick wi’ the 
prodigalish young chap, 

The crowd cheer, and begin to chaff Joe, who turns 
up his nose and swaggers across to the sticks. “Im- 
p dent old wosbird !” says he; “I'll break the bald head 
on un to the truth,” 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 5% 


The old boy is very bald certainly, and the blood will 
show fast enough if you can touch him, Joe. 

He takes off his long-flapped coat, and stands up in 
a long-flapped waistcoat, which Sir Roger de Coverley 
might have worn when it was new, picks out a stick, and 
is ready for Master Joe, who loses no time, but begins 
his old game, whack, whack, whack, trying to break down 
the old man’s guard by sheer strength. But it won’t do,— 
he catches every blow close by the basket, and though 
he is rather too stiff in his returns,.after a minute walks 
Joe about the stage, and is clearly a staunch old game- 
ster. Joe now comes in, and making the most of his 
height, tries to get over the old man’s guard at half-stick, 
by which he takes a smart blow in the ribs and another 
on the elbow and nothing more. And now he loses wind 
and begins to puff, and the crowd laugh: “Cry ‘hold,’ 
Joe—-thee’st met thy match!” Instead of taking good 
advice and getting his wind, Joe loses his temper, and 
strikes at the old man’s body. 

“Blood, blood!” shout the crowd; “Joe’s head’s 
broke!” , 

Who'd have thought it? How didit come? That 
body-blow left Joe’s head unguarded for a moment, and 
with one turn of the wrist the old gentleman has picked 
a neat little bit of skin off the middle of his forehead : 
and though he won't believe it, and hammers on for three 
more blows despite of the shouts, is then convinced by 
the blood trickling into his eye. Poor Joe is sadly crest- 
- fallen, and fumbles in his pocket for the other half-sov- 


™ 


58 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


ereign, but the old gamester won’t have it. “Keep thy 
money, man, and gi’s thy hand,” says he, and they shake 
hands ; but the old gamester gives the new hat to the 
shepherd, and, soon after, the half-sovereign to Willum, 
who thereout decorates his sweetheart with ribbons to 
his heart’s content. 

“Who cana be?” “ Wur do acum from ?” ask the 
crowd. And it soon flies about that the old west-coun- 
try champion, who played a tie with Shaw the Life- 
guardsman at “ Vizes” twenty years before, has broken 
Joe Willis’s crown for him. 

How my country fair is spinning out! I see I must 
skip the wrestling, and the boys jumping in sacks, and 
rolling wheelbarrows blindfolded ; and the donkey-race, 
and the fight which arose thereout, marring the other- 


? 


wise peaceful “veast ;” and the frightened scurrying 
away of the female feast-goers, and descent of Squire 
Brown, summoned by the wife of one of the combatants, 
to stop it; which he wouldn’t start to do till he had got 
on his top-boots. Tom is carried away by old Benjy, 
dog-tired and surfeited with pleasure, as the evening 
comes on and the dancing begins in the booths; and. 
though Willum and Rachel in her new ribbons and many 
another good lad and lass don’t come away just yet, but 
have a good step out and enjoy it, and get no harm there- 
by, yet we, being sober folk, will just stroll away up 
through the churchyard, and by the old yew-tree, and get 
a quiet dish of tea and a parle with our gossips, as the 
steady ones of our village do, and so to bed, 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 89 


That’s the fair true sketch, as far as it goes, of one of 
the larger village feasts in the Vale of Berks, when I was 
a little boy. They are much altered for the worse, I am 
told. I haven’t been at one these twenty years, but I 
have been at the statute fairs in some west-country towns, 
where servants are hired, and greater abominations cannot 
be found. What village feasts have come to, I fear in 
many cases, may be read in the pages of Yeast (though 
I never saw one so bad—thank God!). 

Do you want to know why? It is because, as I said 
before, gentlefolk and farmers have left off joining or 
taking an interest in them. They don’t either subscribe 
to the prizes or go down and enjoy the fun. 

Is this a good or a bad sign? I hardly know. Bad, 
sure enough, if it only arises from the further separation 
of classes consequent on twenty years of buying cheap 
and selling dear, and its accompanying over-work; or 
because our sons and daughters have their hearts in 
London club-life, or so-called society, instead of in the 
old English home duties ; because farmers’ sons are aping 
fine gentlemen, and farmers’ daughters caring more to 
make bad foreign music than good English cheeses. 
Good, perhaps, if it be that the time for the old “veast” 
has gone by, that it is no longer the healthy, sound 
expression of English country holiday-making; that, in 
fact, we as a nation have got beyond it, and are ina 
transition state, feeling for and soon likely to find some 
better substitute. 

Only I have just got this to say before I quit the text, 


bo TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


Don’t let reformers of any sort think that they are going 
really to lay hold of the working boys and young men of 
England by any educational grapnel whatever, which 
hasn’t some dond fide equivalent for the games of the old 
country “veast” in it; something to put in the place of 
the back-swording and wrestling and racing; something 
to try the muscles of men’s bodies, and the endurance of 
their hearts, and to make them rejoice in their strength. 
In all the new-fangled and comprehensive plans which I 
see, this is all left out: and the consequence is, that 
your great Mechanics’ Institutes end in intellectual 
priggism, and your Christian Young Men’s Societies in 
religious Pharisaism. 

Well, well, we must bide our time. Life isn’t all beer 
and skittles,—but beer and skittles, or something better 
of the same sort, must form a good part of every English- 
man’s education. If I could only drive this into the 
heads of you rising Parliamentary lords and young swells 
who “have your ways made for you,” as the saying is,— 
you who frequent palaver houses and West-end clubs, 
waiting always ready to strap yourselves on to the back 
of poor dear old John, as soon as the present used-up lot 
(your fathers and uncles), who sit there on the great 
Parliamentary-majorities’ pack-saddle, and make believe 
they’re guiding him with their red-tape bridle, tumble, or 
have to be lifted off ! 

I don’t think much of you yet—I wish I could; 
though you do go talking and lecturing up and down the 
country to crowded audiences, and are busy with all sorts 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS Ga 


of philanthropic intellectualism, and circulating libraries 
and museums, and Heaven only knows what besides, and 
try to make us think, through newspaper reports, that 
you are, even as we, of the working classes. But, bless 
your hearts, we “ain’t so green,’ though lots of all sorts 
toady you enough certainly, and try to make you think so. 

Pll tell you what to do now: instead of all this trum- 
peting and fuss—which is only the old Parliamentary- 
majority dodge over again—just you go each of you 
(you've plenty of time for it, if you'll only give up t’other 
line), and quietly make three or four friends, real friends, 
among us. You'll find a little trouble in getting at the 
right sort, because such birds don’t come lightly to your 
lure—but found they may be. Take, say, two out of the 
professions, lawyer, parson, doctor—which you will; one 
out of trade, and three or four out of the working classes, 
tailors, engineers, carpenters, engravers—there’s plenty 
of choice. Let them be men of your own ages, mind, 
and ask them to your homes ; introduce them to your 
wives and sisters, and get introduced to theirs; give 
them good dinners, and talk to them about what is really 
at the bottom of your hearts, and box, and run, and row 
with them, when you have a chance. Do all this hon- 
estly as man to man, and by the time you come to ride 
old John, you'll be able to do something more than sit 
on his back, and may-feel his mouth with some stronger 
bridle than a red-tape one. 

Ah, if you only would! But you have got too far 
out of the right rut, I fear, Too much over-civilization, 


! 


62 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-A YS. 


and the deceitfulness of riches. It is easier for a camel 
to go through the eye of a needle. More's the pity. I 
never came across but two of you who could value a man 
wholly and solely for what was in him; who thought 
themselves verily and indeed of the same flesh and blood 
as John Jones the attorney's clerk, and Bill Smith the 
costermonger, and could act as if they thought so. 


GHAPTIOR® TE 
SUNDRY WARS AND ALLIANCES. 


Poor old Benjy! the “rheumatiz” has much to an- 
swer for all through English country-sides, but it never 
played a scurvier trick than in laying thee by the heels, 
when thou wast yet ina green old age. The enemy, 
which had long been carrying on a sort of border war- 
fare, and trying his strength against Benjy’s on the 
battle-field of his hands and legs, now, mustering all his — 
forces, began laying siege to the citadel, and overrunning 
the whole country. Benjy was seized in the back and 
loins; and though he made strong and brave fight, it was 
soon clear enough that all which could be beaten of poor 
old Benjy would have to give in before long. 

It was as much as he could do now, with the help of 
his big stick and frequent stops, to hobble down to the 
canal with Master Tom, and bait his hook for him, and 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 63 


sit and watch his angling, telling him quaint old country 
stories ; and when Tom had no sport, and, detecting a 
rat some hundred yards or so off along the bank, would 
rush off with Toby the turnspit terrier, his other faithful 
companion, in bootless pursuit, he might have tumbled 
in and been drowned twenty times over before Benjy 
could have got near him, | 

Cheery and unmindful of himself as Benjy was, this 
loss of locomotive power bothered him greatly. He had 
got a new object in his old age, and was just beginning 
to think himself useful again in the world. He feared 
much, too, lest Master Tom should fall back again into 
the hands of Charity and the women. So he tried every- 
thing he could think of to get set up. He even went on 
an expedition to the dwelling of one of those queer mor- 
tals who—say what we will, and reason how we will— 
do cure simple people of diseases of one kind or another 
without the aid of physic, and so get to themselves the 
reputation of using charms, and inspire for themselves 
and their dwellings great respect, not to say fear, amongst 
a simple folk such as the dwellers in the Vale of White 
Horse. Where this power, or whatever else it may be, ° 
descends upon the shoulders of a man whose ways are 
not straight, he becomes a nuisance to the neighborhood ; 
a receiver of stolen goods, giver of love-potions, and de- 
ceiver of silly women; the avowed enemy of law and 
order, of justices of the peace, head-boroughs, and game- 
keepers. Such a man in fact as was recently caught | 
tripping, and deservedly dealt with by the Leeds jus- 


64 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


tices, for seducing a girl who had come to him to get 
back her faithless lover, and has been convicted of big- | 
amy since then. Sometimes, however, they are of quite 
a different stamp, men who pretend to nothing, and are 
with difficulty persuaded to exercise their occult arts in 
the simplest cases. 

Of this latter sort was old farmer Ives, as he was 
called, the “ wise man” to whom Benjy resorted (taking 
Tom with him as usual), in the early spring of the year 
next after the feast described in the last chapter. Why 
he was called “farmer” I cannot say, unless it be that 
he was the owner of a cow, a pig or two, and some poul- 
try, which he maintained on about an acre of land en- 
closed from the middle of a wild common, on which 
probably his father had squatted before lords of manors 
looked as keenly after their rights as they do now. — 
Here he had lived no one knew how long, a solitary man. 
It was often rumored that he was to be turned out and 
his cottage pulled down, but somehow it never came to 
pass; and his pigs and cow went grazing on the com- 
mon, and his geese hissed at the passing children, and at 
- the heels of the horse of my lord’s steward, who often rode 
by with a covetous eye on the enclosure, still unmolested. 
His dwelling was some miles from our village ; so Benjy, 
who was half ashamed of his errand, and wholly unable 
to walk there, had to exercise much ingenuity to get the 
means of transporting himself and Tom thither without 
exciting suspicion. However, one fine May morning he 


managed to borrow the old blind pony of our friend the 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 65 


\ : 
publican, and Tom persuaded Madam Brown to give him 


a holiday to spend with old Benjy, and to lend them the 
squire’s light cart, stored with bread and cold meat and 
a bottle of ale. And so the two in high glee started be- 
hind old Dobbin, and jogged along the deep-rutted plashy 
roads, which had not been mended after their winter’s 
wear, towards the dwelling of the wizard. About noon 
they passed the gate which opened on to the large com- 
mon, and old Dobbin toiled slowly up the hill, while 
Benjy pointed out a little deep dingle on the left, out of 
which welled a tiny stream. As they crept up the hill, 
the tops of a few birch trees came in sight, and blue 
smoke curling up through their delicate light boughs ; 
and then the little white thatched home and patch of 
enclosed ground of farmer Ives, lying cradled in the 
dingle, with the gay gorse common rising behind and on 
both sides; while in front, after traversing a gentle slope, 
the eye might travel for miles and miles over the rich 
vale. They now left the main road, and struck into a 
green track over the common marked lightly with wheel 
and horse-shoe, which led down into the dingle and 
stopped at the rough gate of farmer Ives. Here they 
found the farmer, an iron-gray old man, with a bushy 
eyebrow and stron zs aquiline nose, busied in one of his 
vocations. He was a horse and cow doctor, and was 
tending a sick beast which had been sent up to be cured, 
Benjy hailed him as an old friend, and he returned the 
greeting cordially enough, looking, however, hard for a 
moment both at Benjy and Tom, to see whether there 


66 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 
was more in their visit than appeared at first sight. It © 
was a work of some difficulty and danger for Benjy to 
reach the ground, which however he managed to do 
without mishap; and then he devoted himself to unhar- 
nessing Dobbin, and turning him out for a graze (“a run” 
one could not say of that virtuous steed) on the common. 
This done, he extricated the cold provisions from the 
cart, and they entered the farmer’s wicket; and he, 
shutting up the knife with which he was taking maggots 
out of the cow’s back and sides, accompanied them to- 
wards the cottage. <A big old lurcher got up slowly from 
the door stone, stretching first one hind leg and then the 
other, and taking Tom’s caresses and the presence of 
Toby, who kept, however, at a respectful distance, with 
equal indifference. 

“Us be cum to paye a visit. I’ve been a long 
minded to do’t.for old sake’s sake, only I vinds I dwont 
get about now as I used to’t. I be so plaguy bad wi’ th’ 
rumatiz in my back.” Benjy paused, in hopes of draw- 
ing the farmer at once on the subject of his ailments 
without further direct application. | 

“ Ah, I see as you bean’t quite so lissom as you was,” 
replied the farmer with a grim smile, as he lifted the 
latch of his door; ‘we bean’t so young as we was, nother 
on us, wuss luck.” 

The farmer’s cottage was very like those of the better 
class of peasantry in general. A snug chimney corner 
with two seats, and a small carpet on the hearth, an old. 
flint gun and a pair of spurs over the fireplace, a dresser 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 67 


with shelves on which some bright pewter plates and 
crockeryware were arranged, an old walnut table, a few 
chairs and settles, some framed samplers, and an old 
print or two, and a bookcase with some dozen volumes 
on the walls, a rack with flitches of bacon, and other 
stores fastened to the ceiling, and you have the best part 
of the furniture. No sign of occult art is to be seen 
unless the bundles of dried herbs hanging to the rack 
and in the ingle, and the row of labelled phials on one of 
the shelves, betoken it. 

Tom played about with some kittens who occupied 
the hearth, and with a goat who walked demurely in at 
the open door, while their host and Benjy spread the 
table for dinner—and was soon engaged in conflict with 
the cold meat, to which he did much honor. The two 
old men’s talk was of old comrades and their deeds, 
mute, inglorious Miltons of the Vale, and of the doings 
thirty years back—which didn’t interest him much, ex- 
cept when they spoke of the making of the canal, and 
then indeed he began to listen with all his ears, and 
learned to his no small wonder that his dear and wonder- 
ful canal had not been there always—was not in fact so 
old as Benjy or farmer Ives, which caused a strange 
‘commotion in his small brain. 

After dinner, Benjy called attention to a wart which 
Tom had on the knuckles of his hand, and which the 
family doctor had been trying his skill on without suc- 
cess, and begged the farmer to charm it away. Farmer 
Ives looked at it, muttered something or another over it, 


68 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


and cut some notches in a short stick, which he handed 
to Benjy, giving him instructions for cutting it down on | 
certain days, and cautioning Tom not to meddle with the 
wart for a fortnight. And then they strolled out and 
sat on a bench in the sun with their pipes, and the pigs 
came up and grunted sociably and let Tom scratch them ; 
and the farmer, seeing how he liked animals, stood up 
and held his arms in the air and gave a call, which brought 
a flock of pigeons wheeling and dashing through the 
birch-trees. They settled down in clusters on the farmer’s 
arms and shoulders, making love to him and scrambling 
over one another's backs to get to his face ; and then he 
threw them all off, and they fluttered about close by, and 
lighted on him again and again when he held up his arms. 
All the creatures about the place were clean and fearless, 
quite unlike their relations elsewhere; and Tom begged 
to be taught how to make all the pigs and cows and 
poultry in our village tame, at which the farmer only 
gave one of his grim chuckles. 

It wasn’t till they were just ready to go, and old 
Dobbin was harnessed, that Benjy broached the subject 
of his rheumatism again, detailing his symptoms one by 
one. Poor old boy! He hoped the farmer could charm 
it away as easily as he could Tom’s wart, and was ready © 
with equal faith to put another notched stick into his 
other pocket for the cure of his own ailments. The 
physician shook his head, but nevertheless produced a 
bottle and handed it to Benjy with instructions for use. 
“Not as till do’e much good—leastways I be afeared 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 69 


not,” shading his eyes with his hand and looking up at 
them in the cart; “there’s only one thing as I knows on, 
as'll cure old folks like you and I o’ th’ rhumatis.” 
“Wot be that then, farmer?” inquired Benjy. 
“Churchyard mould,” said the old iron-gray man, with 
another chuckle. And so they said their good-byes and 
went their ways home. Tom’s wart was gone in a fort- 
night, but not so Benjy’s rheumatism, which laid him by 
the heels more and more. And though Tom still spent 
many an hour with him, as he sat on a bench in the sun- 
shine, or by the chimney corner when it was cold, he 
soon had to seek elsewhere for his regular companions. 
Tom had been accustomed often to accompany his 
mother in her visits to the cottages, and had thereby 
made acquaintance with many of the village boys of his 
own age. There was Job Rudkin, son of widow Rudkin, 
the most bustling woman in the parish. Howshe could 
ever have had such a stolid boy as Job for a child, must 
always remain a mystery. The first time Tom went to 
their cottage with his mother, Job was not in-doors, but 
he entered soon after, and stood with both hands in his 
pockets staring at Tom. Widow Rudkin, who would 
have had to cross Madam to get at young Hopeful—a 
breach of good manners of which she was wholly incap- 
able—began a series of pantomime signs, which only 
puzzled him, and at last, unable to contain herself longer, 
burst out with “Job! Job! where’s thy cap?” 
“What! beant’e on ma’ head, mother?” replied Job, 
slowly extricating one hand from a pocket and feeling 


70 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


for the article in question ; which he found on his head 
sure enough, and left there, to his mother’s horror and 
Tom’s great delight. 3 

Then there was poor Jacob Dodson, the half-witted 
boy, who ambled about cheerfully, undertaking messages 
and little helpful odds and ends for every one, which, 
however, poor Jacob managed always hopelessly to em- 
brangle. Everything came to pieces in his hands, and 
nothing would stop in his head. They nicknamed him 
Jacob Doodle-calf. - 

But above all there was Harry Winburn, the quickest 
_ and best boy in the parish. He might be a year older 
than Tom, but was very little bigger, and he was the 
Crichton of our village boys. He could wrestle and 
climb and run better than all the rest, and learned all 
that the schoolmaster could teach him faster than that 
worthy at all liked. He was a boy to be proud of, with 
his curly brown hair, keen gray eye, straight, active fig- 
ure, and little ears and hands and feet, “as fine as a 
lord's,” as Charity remarked to Tom one day, talking as 
usual great nonsense. Lords’ hands and ears and feet 
are just as ugly as other folks’ when they are children, 
as any one may convince themselves if they like to look. 
Tight boots and gloves, and doing nothing with them, 
I allow make a difference by the time they are twenty. 

Now that Benjy was laid on the shelf, and his young 
brothers were still under petticoat government, Tom, in 
search of companions, began to cultivate the village boys 
generally more and more. Squire Brown, be it said, was 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. nt 


a true blue Tory to the backbone, and believed honestly 
that the powers which be were ordained of God, and that 
loyalty and steadfast obedience were men’s first duties. 
Whether it were in consequence or in spite of his politi- 
cal creed, I do not mean to give an opinion, though I 
have one; but certain it is, that he held therewith divers 
social principles not generally supposed to be true blue — 
in color. Foremost of these, and the one which the 
Squire loved to propound above all others, was the belief 
that a man is to be valued wholly and solely for that 
which he is in himself, for that which stands up in the 
four fleshly walls of him, apart from clothes, rank, for- 
tune, and all externals whatsoever. Which belief I take 
to be a wholesome corrective of all political opinions, 
and, if held sincerely, to make all opinions equally harm- 
less, whether they be blue, red, or green. Asanecessary 
corollary to this belief, Squire Brown held further that 
it didn’t-matter a straw whether his son associated with 
lords’ sons or ploughmen’s sons, provided they were 
brave and honest. He himself had played foot-ball and 
gone birds’-nesting with the farmers whom he met at 
vestry and the laborers who tilled their fields, and so had 
his father and grandfather with their progenitors. So 
he encouraged Tom in his intimacy with the boys of the 
village, and forwarded it by all means in his power, and 
gave them the run of a close for a playground, and pro- 
vided bats and balls and a foct-ball for their sports. 

Our village was blessed amonyst other things with a 
well-endowed school. The building stood by itself, apart 


42 TOM BROWN’'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


from the master’s house, on an angle of ground where 
three roads met—an old gray stone building with a steep 
roof and mullioned windows. On one of the opposite 
angles stood Squire Brown’s stables and kennel, with 
their backs to the road, over which towered a great elm- 
tree; on the third stood the village carpenter and wheel- 
wright’s large open shop, and his house and the school- 
master’s, with long low eaves, under which the swallows 
built by scores. | 

The moment Tom’s lessons were over, he would now 
get him down to this corner by the stables, and watch 
till the boys came out of school. He prevailed on the 
groom to cut notches for him in the bark of the elm, so 
that he could climb into the lower branches, and there 
he would sit watching the school door, and speculating 
on the possibility of turning the elm into a dwelling- 
place for himself and friends, after the manner of the 
Swiss Family Robinson. But the school hours were 
long and Tom's patience short, so that soon he began to 
descend into the street, and go and peep in at the school 
door and the wheelwright’s shop, and look out for some- 
thing to while away the time. Now, the wheelwright 
was a choleric man, and one fine afternoon, returning 
from a short absence, he found Tom occupied with one 
of his pet adzes, the edge of which was. fast vanishing 
under our hero’s care. A speedy flight saved Tom from 
all but one sound cuff on the ear; but he resented this 
unjustifiable interruption of this his first essay at carpen- 
tering, and still more the further proceedings of the 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 73 


wheelwright, who cuta switch and hung it over the door 
of his workshop, threatening to use it upon Tom if he 
came within twenty yards of his gate. So Tom, to re- 
taliate, commenced a war upon the swallows who dwelt 
under the wheelwright’s eaves, whom he harassed with 
sticks and stones, and being fleeter of foot than his cn- 
emy, escaped all punishment, and kept him in perpetual 
anger. Moreover, his presence about the school door 
began to incense the master, as the boys in that neigh- 
borhood neglected their lessons in consequence, and 
more chan once he issued into the porch, rod in hand 
just as Tom beat a hasty retreat. And he and the 
wheelwright, laying their heads together, resolved to ac- 
" quaint the Squire with Tom’s afternoon occupations}; 
but in order to do it with effect, they determined to take 
him captive and lead him away to judgment fresh from 
his evil doings. This they would have found some diffi- 
culty in doing had Tom continued the war single-handed, 
or rather single-footed, for he would have taken to the 
deepest part of Peebly Brook to escape them ; but, like 
other active powers, he was ruined by his alliances 
Poor Jacob Doodle-calf could not go to school with the 
other boys, and one fine afternoon, about three o’clock 
(the school broke up at four), Tom found him ambling 
about the street, and pressed him into a visit to the 
school-porch. Jacob, always ready to do what he was 
asked, consented, and the two stole down to the school 
together. Tom first reconnoitred the wheelwright’s 
shop, and seeing no signs of activity, thought all safe in 


a4 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


that quarter, and ordered at once an advance of all his 
troops upon the school-porch. The door of the school 
was ajar, and the boys seated on the nearest bench at 
once recognized and opened a correspondence with the 
invaders. Tom, waxing bold, kept putting his head into 
the school, and making faces at the master when his 
back was turned. Poor Jacob, not in the least compre- 
hending the situation, and in high glee at finding himself 
so near the school, which he had never been allowed to 
enter, suddenly, in a fit of enthusiasm, pushed by Tom, 
and ambling three steps into the school, stood there, 
looking round him and nodding with a self-approving 
smile. The master, who was stooping over a boy’s slate, 
with his back to the door, became aware of something 
unusual, and turned quickly round. Yom rushed at 
Jacob, and began dragging him back by his smock-frock, 
and the master made at them, scattering forms and boys 
in his career. Even now they might have escaped, but 
that in the porch, barring retreat, appeared the crafty 
wheelwright, who had been watching all their proceed- 
ings. So they were seized, the school dismissed, and 
Tom and Jacob led away to Squire Brown as lawful 
prize, the boys following to the gate in groups, and 
speculating on the result. 

-The Squire was very angry at first, but the interview, 
by Tom’s pleading, ended in'a compromise. Tom was 
not to go near the school till three o’clock, and only then 
if he had done his own lessons well, in which case he 
was to be the bearer of a note to the master from Squirg 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 76 


Brown, and the master agreed in such case to release 
ten or twelve of the best boys an hour before the time 
of breaking up, to go off and play in the close. The 
wheelwright’s adzes and swallows were to be forever re- 
spected ; and that hero and the master withdrew to the 
servants’ hall, to drink the Squire’s health, well satisfied 
with their day’s work. 

The second act of Tom’s life may now be said to have 
begun. The war of independence had been over for 
some time; none of the women now, not even his 
mother’s maid, dared offer to help him in dressing or 
washing. Between ourselves, he had often at first to 
run to Benjy in an unfinished state of toilet. Charity 
and the rest of them seemed to take a delight in putting 
impossible buttons and ties in the middle of his back; 
but he would have gone without nether integuments alto- 
gether sooner than have had recourse to female valet- 
ing. He had a room to himself, and his father gave 
him sixpence a week pocket-money. All this he had 
achieved by Benjy’s advice and assistance. But now he 
had conquered another step in life, the step which all 
real boys’so longed to make; he had got amongst his 
equals in age and strength, and could measure himself 
with other boys; he lived with those whose pursuits and 
wishes and ways were the same in kind as his own. 

The little governess who had lately been installed in 
the house found her work grow wondrously easy, for 
Tom slaved at his lessons in order to make sure of his 
note to the schoolmaster. So there were very few days 


96 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


in the week in which Tom and the village boys were not 
playing in their close by three o’clock. Prisoner’s base, 
rounders, high-cock-a-lorum, cricket, foot-ball—he was 
soon initiated into the delights of them all ; and though 
most of the boys were older than himself, he managed to 
hold his own very well. He was naturally active and 
strong, and quick of eye and hand, and had the advan- 
tage of light shoes and well-fitting dress, so that in a 
short time he could run and jump and climb with any of 
them. 

They generally finished their regular games half an 
hour or so before tea-time, and then began trials of skill 
and strength in many ways. Some of them would catch 
the Shetland pony who. was turned out in the field, and 
get two or three together on his back, and the little rogue 
enjoying the fun, would gallop off for fifty yards and 
then turn round, or stop short and shoot them on to the 
turf, and then graze quietly on till he felt another load ; 
others played peg-top or marbles, while a few of the 
bigger ones stood up at a bout at wrestling. Tom at 
first only looked on at this pastime, but it had peculiar 
attractions for him, and he could not long keep out of it. 
Elbow and collar-wrestling as practiced in the western 
counties was next to back-swording, the way to fame for 
the youth of the Vale; all the boys knew the rules of it, 
and were more or less expert. But Job Rudkin and 
Harry Winburn were the stars, the former stiff and 
sturdy, with legs like small towers, the latter pliant as 
india-rubber and quick as lightning. Day after day 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. a4 


they stood foot to foot, and offered first one hand and 
then the other, and grappled, and closed and swayed, 
and strained, tilla well-aimed crook of the heel or thrust 
of the loin took effect, and a fair back-fall ended the 
matter. And Tom watched with all his eyes, and first 
challenged one of the less scientific, and threw him, and 
so one by one wrestled his way up to the leaders. 

Then indeed for months he had a poorstime of it; 
it was not long, indeed, before he could manage to keep 
his own legs against Job, for that hero was slow of of- 
fence, and gained his victories chiefly by allowing others 
to throw themselves against his immovable legs and loins. 
But Harry Winburn was undeniably his master; from 
the first clutch of hands when they first stood up, down 
to the last trip which sent him on his back on the turf, 
he felt that Harry knew more and could do more than 
he. Luckily, Harry’s bright unconsciousness and Tom’s 
natural good temper kept them from ever quarrelling ; 
and so Tom worked on and on, and trod more and more 
nearly on Harry’s heels, and at last mastered all the 
dodges and fallsexcept one. This one was Harry’s own 
particular invention and pet; he scarcely ever used it 
except when hard pressed, but then out it came, and as 
sure as it did,over went poor Tom. He thought about 
that fall at his meals, in his walks, when he lay awake 
in bed, in his dreams,—but all to no purpose, until Harry 
one day, in his open way, suggested to him how he 
thought it should be met, and in a week from that time 
the boys were equal, save only the slight difference of 


78 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


strength in Harry’s favor which some extra ten months 
of age gave. Tom had often afterwards reason to be 
thankful for that early drilling, and above all for having 
mastered Harry Winburn’s fall. 

‘Besides their home games, on Saturdays the Love 
would wander all over the neighborhood,—sometimes to 
the downs, or up to the camp, where they cut their 
initials out in the springy turf, and watched the hawks 
soaring, and the “ peert”’ bird, as Harry Winburn called 
the gray plover, gorgeous in his wedding feathers ; and 
so home, racing down the Manger with many a roll 
among the thistles, or through Uffington wood to watch 
the fox cubs playing in the green rides; sometimes to 
Rosy Brook, to cut long whispering reeds which grew 
there, to make pan-pipes of ; sometimes to Moor Mills, 
where was a piece of old forest land, with short browsed 
turf and tufted brambly thickets stretching under the 
oaks, amongst which rumor declared that a raven, last 
of his race, still lingered; or to the sand-hills, in vain 
quest of rabbits, or bird’s-nesting, in the season, anywhere 
and everywhere. 

The few neighbors of-:the Squire’s own rank would 
evel y now and then shrug their shoulders as they drove or 
rode by a party of boys, with Tom in the middle, carrying 
along bulrushes or whispering-reeds, or great bundles of 
cowslip and meadow-sweet, or young starlings or mag- 
pies, or other spoil of wood, brook, or meadow; and 
Lawyer Red-tape might mention to Squire Straightback, 
that no good would come of the young Browns if they 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 79 


were let run wild with all the dirty village boys, whom 
the best farmers’ sons would not even play with. And 
the Squire might reply, with a shake of his head, that 
his sons only mixed with their equals, and never went 
into the village without the governess or a footman. 
But, luckily, Squire Brown was full as stiff-backed as his 
neighbors, and so went on his own way ; and Tom and 
his younger brothers, as they grew up, went on playing 
with. the village boys, without the idea of equality or in- 
equality (except in wrestling, running, and climbing) 
ever entering their heads, as it doesn’t till it’s put there 
by Jack Nastys or fine ladies’-maids. 

I don’t mean to say it would be the case in all vil- 
lages, but it certainly was so in this one; the village 
boys were fully as manly and honest, and certainly purer, 
than those in a higher rank; and Tom got more harm 
from his equals in his first fortnight at a private school, 
where he went when he was nine years old, than he had 
from his village friends from the day he left Charity’s 
apron-strings. 

Great was the grief amongst the village school-boys 
when Tom drove off with the Squire one August morn- 
ing, to meet the coach on his way to school. Each of 
them had given him some little present of the best that he 
had, and his small private box was full of peg-tops, white. 
marbles (called “ alley-taws ” in the Vale), screws, bird's 
eges, whip-cord, jews-harps, and other miscellaneous 
boys’ wealth. Poor Jacob Doodle-calf, with floods of 
tears, had pressed upon him with spluttering earnestness 
his lame pet hedgehog (he had always some poor broken- 


80 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


down beast or bird by him); but this Tom had been 
obliged to refuse, by the Squire’s orders. He had given 
them alla great tea under the big elm in their play- 
ground, for which Madam Brown had supplied the 
biggest cake ever seen in our village; and Tom was 
really as sorry to leave them as they to lose him, but his 
sorrow was not unmixed with the pride and excitement 
of making a new step in life. 

And this feeling carried him through his first part- 
ing with his mother better than could have been ex- 
pected. Their love was as fair and whole as human 
love could be,—perfect self-sacrifice on the one side, 
meeting a young and true heart on the other. It is not 
within the scope of my book, however, to speak of 
family relations, or I should have much to say on the 
subject of English mothers,—aye, and of English fathers, ° 
and sisters, and brothers too. 

Neither have I room to speak of our private schools: 
what I have to say is about public schools, those much- 
abused and much-belauded institutions peculiar to Eng- 
land. So we must hurry through Master Tom’s year at 
a private school as fast as we can. 

It was a fair average specimen, kept by a gentleman, 
with another gentleman as second master; but it was 
little enough of the real work they did—merely coming 
into school when lessons were prepared and all ready to 
be heard. The whole discipline of the school out of 
lesson hours was in the hands of the two ushers, one of 
_ whom was always with the boys in their play-ground, in 


* 


. 


i 
| 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 81 


the school, at meals—in fact, at all times and every- 
where, till they were fairly in bed at night. 

Now the theory of private schools is (or was) con- 
S-ant supervision out of school; therein differing funda- 
nientally from that of public schools, 

It may be right or wrong; but if right, this super- 
vision surely ought to be the especial work of the head- 
master, the responsible person. The object of all schools 
is not to ram Latin and Greek into boys, but to make 
th:m good English boys, good future citizens ; and by 


oft dhewmast important part ou that work-must be done, 


or i0t done, out of school houys, To leave it, therefore, 
in the hands of inferior 2men, is just giving up the 
highest and hardest part of the work of education. 


. ¢ == Drsude | ’ 
Were I a-yrir7te. sshnimascer, © shal, ways let wno 


_, Wul hear the boys their lessons, but let me live with 


~ )them.when they are at play and rest. 
; \ The two ushers at Tom’s first schoo¥ were not gen- 


_ tlemen,and very poorly, eskuvated, ard. -were only driving 
their »oor trade of usher to get such living as they 


Cenld out of it. They were not bad men, but had little 
heart for their work, and of course were bent on making 


“jt aS easy as possible. One of the methods by which 


they erl@éayera! to accomplish this was by encouraging 
tale-bearing, which had become a frightfully common 
vice in the school in consequence, and had sapped all the 
foundations of school moraiity. Another was, by favor- 
ing grossly the biggest boys, ¥,10 alone could have given 
them much trouble ; vi yhose young gentlemen 


RS POSS .of the .even’ ag schoal-raam, hv. getting up 


82 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA ¥S. 


became most avominable tyrants, oppressing the little 
boys in all the small mean ways which prevail in priva 
schoois. 

Poor little Tom was made dreadfully unhappy in hi: 
first week, by a catastrophe which happened to his first 
letter home. With huge labor he had, on the very eve 
ing of his arrival, managed to fill two sides of a sheet ot 
letter-paper with assurances of his love for dear mamtna, 
his happiness:at school, and his resolves to do all she 
would wish. This missive, with the help of the boy 
sat at the desk next him /ehso a new wrrrial).,be man, 
aged to fold successfully } but this done they were sadl 
put to it for means of sealing Envelopes were then 
sROWD:] they had no wax, gud dared not disturb 


going to ask the usher for some. At length rv 
friend, being of an ingenious turn of mind, suggested 
sealing with imk, and the letter was accordingly stug), 
down with a blob of Ink, amd duly handed by. Jom, on 
his way to bed, to the housekeeper to be posted. 
was not till four days afterwards that that good da 
sent for him, and produced the precious letter, and some 
wax, saying, “Oh, Master Brown, I forgot to tell 
before, but your letter isn’t sealed. Poor.Tom” took 
the wax in silence and sealed the Yetter, with a ht 
lump rising in his throat during the process, and th 
ran away to a quiet corner ofthe play-ground, and b 
into. an agony of tears. The idea of his mother waitir 
day after day for the - he had promised her at once, : 


ty 


A 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 83 


and perhaps thinking him forgetful of her, when he had 
done all in his power to make good his promise, was as 
bitter a grief as any which he had to undergo for many 
a long year. His wrath was proportionately violent 
when he was aware that two boys stopped close by him, 
one of whom, a fat gaby of a fellow, pointed at him and 
called him “Young mammy-sick!’’ whereupon Tom 
arose, and giving vent thus to his grief and shame and 
rage, smote his derider on the nose, and made it bleed, 
which sent that young worthy howling to the usher, who 
reported Tom for violent and unprovoked assault and 
battery. Hitting in the face was a felony punishable 
with flogging, other hitting only a misdemeanor—a dis- 
tinction not altogether clear in principle. Tom, how- 
ever, escaped the penalty by pleading “primum tem- 


+] 


pus ;” and having written a second letter to his mother, 
enclosing some forget-me-nots, which he picked on their 
first half-holiday walk, he felt quite happy again, and 
began to enjoy vastly a good deal of his new life. 

These half-holiday walks were the great events of 
the week. The whole fifty boys started after dinner 
with one of the ushers for Hazeldown, which was distant 
some mile or so from the school. Hazeldown measured 
some three miles round, and in the neighborhood were 
several woods full of all manner of birds and butterflies. 
The usher walked slowly round the down with such boys 
as liked to accompany him; the rest scattered in all 
directions, being only bound to appear again when the 
usher had completed his round, and accompany him 


84 TOM BROWWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


home. They were forbidden, however, to go anywhere 
except on the down and into the woods, the village being 
especially prohibited, where huge bulls’-eyes and unc- 
tuous taffy might be procuredin exchange for coin of the 
realm. 7 
Various were the amusements to which the boys 
then betook themselves. At the entrance of the down 
there was a steep hillock, like the barrows of Tom’s own 
downs. This mound was the weekly scene of terrific 
combats, at a game called by the queer name of “ mud- 
patties.” The boys who played divided into sides under 
different leaders, and one side occupied the mound. 
Then, all parties having provided themselves with many 
sods of turf, cut with their bread-and-cheese knives, the 
side which remained at the bottom proceeded to assault 
the mound, advancing up on all sides under cover of 
a heavy fire of turfs, and then struggling for victory with 
the occupants, which was theirs as soon as they could, 
even for a moment, clear the summit, when they in turn 
became the besieged. It was a good rough dirty game, 
and of great use in counteracting the sneaking tenden- 
cies of the school. Then others of the boys spread 
over the downs, looking for the holes of humble-bees 
and mice, which they dug up without mercy, often (I 
regret to say) killing and skinning the unlucky mice, 
and (I do not regret to say) getting well stung by the 
humble-bees. Others went after butterflies and birds’-_ 
eggs in their seasons ; and Tom found on Hazeldown, for 
the first time, the beautiful little blue butterfly with gold- 


y 
TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 85 


en spots on his wings, which he had never seen on his 
own downs, and dug out his first sand-martin’s nest. This 
latter achievement resulted in a flogging, for the sand- 
martins built in a high bank close to the village, con- 
sequently out of bounds; but one of the bolder spirits 
of the school, who never could be happy unless he was 
doing something to which risk attached, easily persuaded 
Tom to break bounds and visit the martin’s bank. From 
whence it being only a step to the toffy shop, what could 
be more simple than to go on there and fill their pockets ; 
or what more certain than that on their return, a distri- 
bution of treasure having been made, the usher should 
shortly detect the forbidden smells of bulls’-eyes, and, a 
search ensuing, discover the state of the breeches-pockets 
of Tom and his ally? 

This ally of Tom’s was indeed a desperate hero in 
the sight of the boys, and feared as one who dealt in 
magic, or something approaching thereto, which reputa- 
tion came to him in this wise. The boys went to bed at 
eight, and of course consequently lay awake in the dark 
for an hour or two, telling ghost-stories by turns. One 
night when it came to his turn, and he had dried up 
their souls by his story, he suddenly declared that he 
would make a fiery hand appear on the door; and to 
the astonishment and terror of the boys in his room, a 
hand, or something like it, in pale light, did then and 
there appear. The fame of this exploit having spread 
to the other rooms, and being discredited there, the 
young necromancer declared that the same wonder 


86 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


would appear in all the rooms in turn, which it accord- 
ingly did; and the whole circumstance having been 
privately reported to one of the ushers as usual, that 
functionary, after listening about the doors of the rooms, 
by a sudden descent caught the performer in his night- 
shirt, with a box of phosphorus in his guiltyhand. Luci- 
fer-matches and all the present facilities for getting 
acquainted with fire were then unknown; the very name 
of phosphorus had something diabolic in it to the boy- 
mind; so Tom’s ally, at the cost of a sound flogging, 
earned what many older folks covet much—the very 
decided fear of most of his companions. 

He was a remarkable boy, and by no means a bad 
one. Tom stuck to him till he left, and got into many 
scrapes by so doing. But he was the great opponent of 
the tale-bearing habits of the school, and the open enemy 
of the ushers, and so worthy of all support. | 

Tom imbibed a fair amount of Latin and Greek at 
the school, but somehow on the whole it didn’t suit him, 
or he it, and in the holidays he was constantly working 
the Squire to send him at once to a public school. Great 
was his joy, then, when in the middle of his third half- 
year, in October, 183-, a fever broke out in the village, 
and the master having himself slightly sickened of it, 
the whole of the boys were sent off at a day’s notice to 
their respective homes. 

The Squire was not so pleased as Master Tom to 
see that young gentleman’s brown merry face appear 
at home, some two months before the proper time, for 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 87 


Christmas holidays; and so, after putting on his think- 
ing cap, he retired to his study and wrote several letters, 
the result of which was, that one morning at the break- 
fast-table, about a fortnight after Tom’s return, he ad- 
dressed his wife with—‘“ My dear, I have arranged that 
Tom shall go to Rugby at once, for the last six weeks of 
this half-year, instead of wasting them riding and loiter- 
ing about home. It is very kind of the Doctor to allow 
it. Will you see that his things are all ready by Friday, 
when I shall take him up to town, and send him down 
the next day by himself.” 7 

Mrs. Brown was prepared for the announcement, and 
merely suggested a doubt whether Tom were yet old 
enough to travel by himself. However, finding both | 
father and son against her on this point, she gave in, 
like a wise woman, and proceeded to prepare Tom’s kit 
for his launch into a public school. 


CHAPTER IV. 


Let the steam-pot hiss till it’s hot, 
Give me the speed of the tantivy-trot.” 
Coaching Song, by R. E. E. Warburton, Esq. 


“Now, sir, time to get up, if you please. Tally-ho 
coach for Leicester ’ll be round in half an hour, and 
don’t wait for nobody.” So spake the boots of the 
- “Peacock” Inn, Islington, at half-past two o’clock on 
the morning of a day in the early part of November, 


88 TOM BROWWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


183-, giving Tom at the same time a shake py the 
shoulder, and then putting down a candle and carrying 
off his shoes to clean. , 

Tom and his father had arrived in town from Berk- 
shire the day before, and finding, on inquiry, that the 
Birmingham coaches which ran from the city did not 
pass through Rugby, but deposited their passengers at 
Dunchurch,—a village three miles distant on the main 
road, where said passengers had to wait for the Oxford 
and Leicester coach in the evening, or to take a post- 
chaise,—had resolved that Tom should travel down by 
the Tally-ho, which diverged from the main road and 
passed through Rugby itself. And as the Tally-ho was 
an early coach, they had driven out to the “ Peacock,” 
to be on the road. 

Tom had never been in London, and would have 
liked to have stopped at the “ Belle-Sauvage,” where 
they had been put down by the Star, just at dusk, that 
he might have gone roving about those endless, myste- 
rious, gas-lit streets, which, with their glare and hum and 
moving crowds, excited him so that he couldn’t talk 
even. But as soon as he found that the “ Peacock” 
arrangement would get him to Rugby by twelve o'clock 
in the day, whereas otherwise he wouldn't be there till 
the evening, all other plans melted away, his one absorb- 
ing aim being to become a public school-boy as fast as 
possible, and six hours sooner or later seeming to him of 
the most alarming importance. 

Tom and his father had alighted at the “ Peacock ” 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 89 


about seven in the evening ; and having heard with un- 
feigned joy the paternal order at the bar, of steaks and 
oyster-sauce for supper in half an hour, and seen his father 
seated cozily by the bright fire in the coffee-rroom with 
the paper in his hand, Tom had run out to see about 
him, had wondered at all the vehicles passing and re- 
passing, and had fraternized with the boots and hostler, 
from whom he ascertained that the Tally-ho was a tip- 
top goer, ten miles an hour, including stoppages, and so 
punctual that all the road set their clocks by her. 

Then being summoned to supper he had regaled him- 
Self in one of the bright little boxes of the “ Peacock” 
coffee-room, on the beef-steak and unlimited oyster- 
sauce, and brown stout (tasted then for the first time— 
a day to be marked forever by Tom with a white stone) ; 
had at first attended to the excellent advice which his 
father was bestowing on him from over his glass of 
steaming brandy and water, and then began nodding, from 
the united effects of the stout, the fire and the lecture. 
The Squire, observing Tom’s state, and remembering that 
it was nearly nine o’clock, and that the Tally-ho left at 
three, sent the little fellow off to the chambermaid with 
a shake of the hand (Tom having stipulated in the 
morning before starting that kissing should now cease 
between them) and a few parting words. 

“ And now, Tom, my boy,” said the Squire, “ remem- 
ber you are going, at your own earnest request, to be 
chucked into this great school like a young bear, with 
all your troubles before you—earlier than we should 


go TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


have sent you perhaps. If schools are what they were 
in my time, you'll see a great many cruel, blackguard 
things done, and hear a deal of foul, bad talk. But never 
fear. You tell the truth, keep a brave and kind heart, 
and never listen to or say anything you wouldn't have 
your mother and sister hear, and you'll never feel | 
ashamed to come home, or we to see you.” 

The allusion to his mother made Tom feel rather 
choky, and he would have liked to have hugged his 
father well, if it hadn’t been for the recent stipulation. 

As it was, he only squeezed his father’s hand, and 
looked bravely up and said, “ ’ll try, father.” 

“T know you will, my boy. Is your money all safe ?” 

“Yes,” said Tom, diving into one pocket to make 
sure. 

“ And your keys ?”’ said the Squire. 

“All right,” said Tom, diving into the other pocket. 

“Well, then, good night. God bless you. I'll tell 
Boots to call you, and be up to see you off.” 

Tom was carried off by the chambermaid in a brown 
study, from which he was roused in a clean little attic, by 
that buxom person calling him a little darling, and kiss- 
ing him as she left the room, which indignity he was 
too much surprised to resent. And still thinking of his 
father’s last words, and the look with which they were 
spoken, he knelt down and prayed that, come what 
might, he might never bring shame or sorrow on the 
dear folk at home. | 

Indeed, the Squire’s last words deserved to have their 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. gt 


effect, for they had been the result of much anxious 
thought. All the way up to London he had pondered 
what he should say to Tom by way of parting advice— 
something that the boy could keep in his head ready for 
use. By way of assisting meditation, he had even gone 
the length of taking out his flint and steel, and tinder, 
and hammering away for a quarter of an hour till he had 
manufactured a light for a long Trichinopoli cheroot, 
which he silently puffed, to the no small wonder of 
Coachee, who was an old friend, and an institution on 
the Bath road, and who always expected a talk on the 
prospects and doings, agricultural and social, of the 
whole country when he carried the Squire. 

To condense the Squire’s meditation, it was some- 
what as follows: “I won’t tell him to read his Bible, and 
love and serve God ; if he don’t do that for his mother’s 
sake and teaching, he won’t for mine. Shall I go into 
the sort of temptations he'll meet with? No, I can’tdo 
that. Never do for an old fellow to go into such things 
with a boy. He won't understand me. Do him more 
harm than good, ten to one. Shall I tell him to mind 
his work, and say he’s sent to school to make himself a 
good scholar? Well, but he isn’t sent to school for that 
—not for that mainly. I don’t care a straw for Greek 
particles, or the digamma, no more does his mother. 
What is he sent to school for? Well, partly because 
he wanted so to go. If he'll only turn out a brave, help- 
full, truth-telling Englishman, and a gentleman, and a 
Christian, that’s all I want,” thought the Squire; and 


92 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


upon this view of the case framed his last words of ad- 
vice to Tom, which were well enough suited to his. pur- 
pose. 

For they were Tom’s first thoughts as he tumbled 
out of bed at the summons of Boots, and proceeded 
rapidly to wash and dress himself. At ten minutes to 
three he was down in the coffee-room in his stockings, 
carrying his hat-box, coat, and comforter in his hand; 
and there he found his father nursing a bright fire, and 
a cup of hot coffee and a hard biscuit on the table. 

“Now then, Tom, give us your things here, and drink 
this ; there’s nothing like starting warm, old fellow.” 

Tom addressed himself to the coffee, and prattled 
away while he worked himself into his shoes and his 
great coat, well warmed through—a Petersham coat with 
velvet collar, made tight after the abominable fashion of 
those days. And just as he was swallowing his last 
mouthful, winding his comforter round his throat, and 
tucking the ends into the breast of his coat, the horn 
sounds, Boots looks in and says, “ Tally-ho, sir;” and 
they hear the ring and the rattle of the four fast trotters, 
and the town-made drag, as it dashes up to the “ Pea- 
cock.” 

“Anything for us, Bob?” says the burly guard, 
dropping down from behind, and slapping himself across 
the chest. . | 

“Young genl’m’n, Rugby; three parcels, Leicester ; 
hamper o’ game, Rugby,” answers hostler. 

“Tell young gent to look alive,” says guard, opening 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 93 


the hind-boot, and shooting in the parcels, after examin- 
ing them by the lamps. “ Here, shove the portmanteau 
up a-top—I’ll fasten him presently. Now then, sir, jump 
up behind.” | 

“ Good-by, father—my love at home.” A last shake 
of the hand. Up goes Tom, the guard catching his hat- 
box and holding on with one hand, while with the other 
he claps the horn to his mouth. Toot, toot, toot! the 
hostlers let go their heads, the four bays plunge at the 
collar, and away goes the Tally-ho into the darkness, 
. forty-five seconds from thetime they pulled up. Hostler, 
Boots, and the Squire stand looking after them under 
the “ Peacock” lamp. 

“ Sharp work,” says the Squire, and goes in again 
‘to his bed, the coach being well out of sight and hearing. 

Tom stands up on the coach and looks back at. his 
father’s figure as long as he can see it, and then the 
guard, having disposed of his luggage, comes to an 
anchor, and finishes his buttonings and other prepara- 
tions for facing the three hours before dawn—no joke 
for those who minded cold, on a fast coach in Novem- 
ber, in the reign of his late majesty. 

I sometimes think that you boys of this generation 
are a deal tenderer fellows than we used tobe. Atanyrate 
you're much more comfortable travellers, for I see every 
one of you with his rug or plaid, and other dodges for 
preserving the caloric, and most of you going in those 
fuzzy, dusty, padded first-class carriages. It was another 
affair altogether, a dark ride on the top of the Tally-ho, I 


94 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


can tell you, ina tight Petersham coat, and your feet dang- 
ling six inches from the floor. Then youknew what cold 
was, and what it was to be without legs, for not a bit of 
feeling had you in them after the first half-hour. But it 
had its pleasures, the old dark ride. First there was the 
consciousness of silent endurance, so dear to every Eng- 
lishman—of standing out against something, and not 
giving in. Then there was the music of the rattling har- 
ness, and the ring of the horses’ feet on the hard road, and 
the glare of the two bright lamps through the streaming 
hoar frost, over the leaders’ ears, into the darkness ; and 
the cheery toot of the guard’s horn, to warn some drowsy 
pikeman or the hostler at the next change; and the 
looking forward to daylight ; and last, but not least, the 
delight of returning sensation in your toes. 

Then came the break of dawn and the sunrise ; 
where can they be ever seen in perfection but from a 
coach roof? You want motion and change and music 
to see them in their glory—not the music of singing- 
men and singing-women, but good silent music, which 
sets itself in your own head, the accompaniment of 
work and getting over the ground. 

The Tally-ho is past St. Alban’s, and Tom is enjoy- 
ing the ride, though half-frozen. The guard, who is alone 
with him on the back of the coach, is silent, but has 
muffled Tom’s feet up in straw, and put the end of an 
oat-sack over his knees. The darkness has driven him 
inwards, and he has gone over his little past life, and 
thought of all his doings and promises, and of his mother 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 95 


and sister, and his father’s last words, and has made 
fifty good resolutions, and means to bear himself like a 
brave Brown as heis, though a young one. Then he has 
been forward into the mysterious boy-future, specula- 
ting as to what sort of a place Rugby is, and what they 
do there, and calling up all the stories of public schools 
which he has heard from big boys in the holidays. He 
is chock full of hope and life, notwithstanding the cold, 
and kicks his heels against the back-board, and would 
like to sing, only he doesn’t know how his friend the 
silent guard might take it. 

And now the dawn breaks at the end of the fourth 
stage, and the coach pulls up at a little roadside inn 
with huge stables behind. There is a bright fire 
gleaming through the red curtains of the bar-window, 
and the door is open. The coachman catches his whip 
into a double thong, and throws it to the hostler; the 
steam of the horses rises straight up into the air. He 
has put them along over the last two miles, and is two 
minutes before his time; he rolls down from the box and 
into the inn. The guard rolls off behind. “Now, sir,” 
says he to Tom, “you just jump down, and I'll give you 
a drop of something to keep the cold out.” 

Tom finds a difficulty in jumping, or indeed in find- 
ing the top of the wheel with his feet, which may be in 
the next world for all he feels; so the guard picks him 
off the coach-top, and sets him on his legs, and they 
stump off into the bar, and join the coachman and the 
other outside passengers. _ 


96 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


Here a fresh-looking barmaid serves them each with 
a glass of early purl as they stand before the fire, coach- 
man and guard exchanging business remarks. The purl 
warms the cockles of Tom’s heart, and makes him cough. 

“Rare tackle that, sir, of a cold morning,” says the 
coachman, smiling. “Time's up.” They are out again 
and up; coachee the last, gathering the reins into his 
hands and talking to Jem the hostler about the mare’s 
shoulder, and then swinging himself up on to the box— 
the horses dashing off in a canter before he falls into his 
seat. Toot-toot-tootle-too goes the horn, and away they 
are again, five-and-thirty miles on their road (nearly half 
way to Rugby, thinks Tom), and the prospect of break- 
fast at the end of the stage. | 

And now they begin to see, and the early life of the 
country-side comes out; a market cart or two, men in 
smock-frocks going to their work, pipe in mouth, a whiff 
of which is no bad smell this bright morning. The sun 
gets up, and the mist shines like silver gauze. They pass, 
the hounds jogging along to a distant meet, at the heels 
of the huntsman’s hack, whose face is about the color of 
the tails of his old pink, as he exchanges greetings with 
coachman and guard. Now they pull up at a lodge, and 
take on board a well-muffled-up sportsman, with his gun- 
case and carpet-bag. An early up-coach meets them, and 
the coachmen gather up their horses, and pass one an- 
other with the accustomed lift of the elbow, each team 
doing eleven miles an hour, with a mile to spare behind 
if necessary. And here comes breakfast. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 97 


“Twenty minutes here, gentlemen,” says the coach. 
man, as they pull up at half-past seven at the inn-door. 

Have we not endured nobly this morning, and is not 
this a worthy reward for our endurance? There is the 
low dark wainscoted room hung with sporting-prints, the 
hat-stand (with a whip or two standing up in it belong- 
ing to bagmen who are still snug in bed) by the door ; 
the blazing fire, with the quaint old glass over the man- 
tlepiece, in which is stuck a large card with the list of 
the meets for the week of the county hounds; the table 
covered with the whitest of cloths and of china, and 
bearing a pigeon-pie, ham, round of cold boiled beef cut 
from a mammoth ox, and the great loaf of household 
bread on a wooden trencher. And here comes in the 
stout head waiter, puffing under a tray of hot viands ; 
kidneys and a steak, transparent rashers and poached 
eggs, buttered toast and muffins, coffee and tea, all 
smoking hot. The table can never hold it all; the 
cold meats are removed to the sideboard, they were only 
put on for show and to give us an appetite, And now 
fall on, gentlemen all. It is a well-known sporting- 
house, and the breakfasts are famous. Two or three 
men in pink, on their way to the meet, drop in, and are 
very jovial and sharp-set, as indeed we all are. 

“Tea or coffee, sir?’’ says head waiter coming round 
to Tom. : 

“ Coffee, please,’ says Tom, with his mouth full of 
muffin and kindey ; coffee is a treat to him—tea is not. 


Our coachman, I perceive, who breakfasts with us, 
Z 


98 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


is a cold-beef man. He also eschews potations, and ad- 
dicts himself to a tankard of ale, which is brought by the 
bar-maid. Sportsman looks on approvingly, and orders 
ditto for himself. 

Tom has eaten kidney and pigeon pie, and imbibed 
coffee, till his little skin is as tight as a drum, and ther 
has the further pleasure of paying head waiter out of 
his own purse, in a dignified manner, and walks out before 
the inn door to see the horses put to. This is done 
leisurely and in a highly-finished manner by the hostlers, 
as if they enjoyed not heing hurried. Coachman comes 
out with his way-bill, and puffing a fat cigar which the 
sportsman has given him. Guard emerges from the tap, 
where he prefers breakfasting, licking round a tough- 
looking, doubtful cheroot, which you might tie round your 
finger, and three whiffs of which would knock anyone 
else out of time. 

The pinks stand about the inn door lighting cigars 
and waiting to see us start, while their hacks are led up 
and down the market-place on which the inn looks. 
They all know our sportsman, and we feel a reflected 
credit when we see him chatting and laughing with 
them. } 

“ Now, sir, please,’ says the coachman ; all the rest 
of the passengers are up; the guard is locking the hind 
boot. 

“A good run to you!” says the sportsman to the 
pinks, and is by the coachman’s side in no time. 

“Let ‘em go, Dick!” The hostlers fly back, draw- 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 99 


ing off the cloths from the horses’ loins, and away we 
go through the market-place, and down the High Street, 
looking in at the first-floor windows, and seeing several 
worthy burgesses shaving thereat ; while all the shop- 
boys who are cleaning the windows, and housemaids 
who are doing the steps, stop and look pleased as we 
rattle past, as if we were a part of their legitimate morn- 
ing’s amusement. We clear the town, and are well out 
between hedgerows again as the town clock strikes 
eight. 

The sun shines almost warmly, and breakfast has 
oiled all springs and loosened all tongues. Tom is en- 
couraged by aremark or two of the guard’s between the 
puffs of his oily cheroot, and besides is getting tired of 
not talking. He is too full of his destination to talk 
about anything else, and so he asks the guard if he 
knows Rugby. 

“Goes through it every day of my life. Twenty 
minutes afore twelve down—ten o'clock up.” 

“What sort of a place is it, please ?” says Tom. 

Guard looks at him with a comical expression. 
“Werry out-o’-the-way place, sir; no paving to streets, 
nor no lighting. ‘Mazin’ big horse and cattle fair in au- 
tumn—lasts a week—just overnow. Takes town a week 
toget clean after it. Fairish hunting country. But slow 
place, sir,—slow place. Off the main road, you see— 
only three coaches a day, and one on ’em atwo-oss wan, 
inore like a hearse nor a coach—Regulator—comes from 
Oxford. Young gentl’m’n at school calls her Pig and 


100 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


Whistle, and goes up to college by her (six miles an 
hour) when they goes toenter. Belong to school, sir ?”’ 

“ Yes,’ says Tom, not unwilling for a moment that 
the guard should think him an old boy. But then, hav- 
ing some qualms as to the truth of the assertion, and 
seeing that if he were to assume the character of an old 
boy he couldn’t go on asking the questions he wanted, 
added—“ that is to say, I’m on my way there. I’m a 
new boy.” 

The guard looked as if he knew this quite as well as 
Tom. 

“You're werry late, sir,” says the guard; “only six 
weeks to-day to the end of the half.’ Tom assented. 
“We takes up fine loads this day six weeks, and Monday 
and Tuesday arter. Hopes we shall have the pleasure 
of carrying you back.” 

Tom said he hoped they would; but he thought within 
himself that his fate would probably be the Pig and 
Whistle. 

“It pays uncommon, cert’nly,” continues the guard. 
“Werry free with their cash is the young genl’m’n. But, 
Lor’ bless you, we gets into such rows all ‘long the road, 
what wi’ their pea-shooters, and long whips, and holler- 
ing, and upsetting everyone as comes by; I'd a sight 
sooner carry one or two on ’em, sir, as I may be a-carryin’ 
of you now, than a coach-load.” ae 

“What do they do with the pea-shooters ?” inquires 
Tom. 

“Do wi’ em! why, pepper everyone’s. faces as we 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. Iot 


come near, ’cept the young gals, and breaks windows wi’ 
them too, some on ’em shoots so hard. Now, ’twas just 
here, last June, as we was a-drivin’ up the first-day boys, 
they was mendin’ a quarter-mile of road, and there was 
a lot of Irish chaps, regular roughs, a-breaking stones. 
As we comes up, ‘ Now boys,’ says young gent on the 
box (smart young fellow, and desper’t reckless), ‘here’s 
fun! Let the Pats have it about the ears.’ ‘God’s 
sake, sir!’ says Bob (that’s my mate. the coachman), 
‘don’t go for to shoot at’em: they'll knock us off the 
coach.’ ‘Damme, Coachee,’ says young my lord, ‘you 
ain't afraid; hoora, boys! let em have it.’ ‘ Hoora!’ 
sings out the others, and fill their mouths chock full 
of peas to last the whole line. Bob, seeing as ’twas to 
come, knocks his hat over his eyes, hollers to his ’osses, 
an shakes ’em up, and away we goes up to the line on 
"em, twenty miles an hour. The Pats begin to hoora 
too, thinking it was a runaway, and the first lot on ’em 
stands grinnin’ and wavin’ their old hats as we comes 
abreast on ’em ; and then you'd ha’ laughed to see how 
took aback and choking savage they looked, when they 
gets the peas a stinging all over’em. But bless you, 
the laugh weren’t all of our side, sir bya long way. We 
was going so fast, and they was so took aback, that they 
didn’t take what was up till we was half-way up the line. 
Then ’twas ‘look out all,’ surely. They howls all down 
the line fit to frighten you ; some on’em runs arter us 
and tries to clamber up behind, only we hits ’em over the 
fingers and pulls their hands off ; one as had had it very 


102 TOM BROWWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


sharp act’ly run right at the leaders, as though he’d 
ketch ’em by the heads, only luck’ly for him he misses 
his tip, and comes over a heap o’ stones first. The rest 
picks up stones, and gives it us right away till we gets 
out of shot, the young gents holding out werry manful 
with the pea-shooters and such stones as lodged on us, 
and a pretty many there was too. Then Bob picks him- 
self up again, and looks at young gent on the box werry 
solemn. Bob’d had a rum un in the ribs, which’d like 
to ha’ knocked him off the box, or made him drop the 
reins. Young gent on box picks himself up, and so 
does we all, and looks round to count damage. Box’s 
head cut open and his hat gone; ’nother young gentle- 
man’s hat gone: mine knocked in at the side, and not 
one on us as wasn’t black and blue somewhere or an- 
other, most on ’em all over. Two pound ten to pay for 
damage to paint, which they subscribed for there and 
then, and gave Bob and mean extra half-sovereign each ; 
but I wouldn’t go down that line again not for twenty 
half-sovereigns.” And the guard shook his head slowly, 
and got up and blew a clear brisk toot-toot. 

“What fun!” said Tom,.who could scarcely contain 
his pride at this exploit of his future schoolfellows. He 
longed already for the end of the half that he might join 
them. ; 

“Taint such good fun though, sir, for the folk as 
meets the coach, nor for we who has to go back with it 
next day. Them Irishers last summer had all got stones 
ready for us, and was all but letting drive, and we’d got 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. (103 


two reverend gents aboard too. We pulled up at the 
beginning of the line, and pacified them, and we're never 
going to carry any more pea-shooters, unless they prom- 
ise not to fire where there’s a line of Irish chaps astone- 
breaking.” The guard stopped and pulled away at his ° 
cheroot, regarding Tom benignantly the while. 

“Oh, don’t stop! tell us something more about the 
pea-shooting.” 

“Well, there’d like to have been a pretty piece of 
work over it at Bicester, a while back. We was six 
miles from the town, when we meets an old square- 
headed, gray-haired yeoman chap, a jogging along quite 
quiet. He looks up at the coach, and just then a pea 
hits him on the nose, and some catches his cob behind 
and makes him dance up on his hind legs. I see’d the 
old boy’s face flush and look plaguy awkward, and I 
thought we was in for somethin’ nasty. 

“ He turns his cob’s head, and rides quietly after us 
just out of shot. How that ere cob did step! we never 
shook him off not a dozen yards in six miles. At first the 
young gents was werry lively on him; but afore we got 
in, seeing how steadily the old chap come on, they was 
quite quiet, and laid their heads together what they 
should do. Some was for fighting, some for axing his 
pardon. He rides into the town close after us, comes 
up when we stops, and says the two as shot at him must 
come before a magistrate; and a great crowd comes 
round, and we could’nt get the ’osses to. But the 
young ’uns they all stand by one another, and says all 


104 TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DAYS. 


or none must go, and as how they’d fight it out, and 
have to be carried. Just as twas gettin’ serious, and 
the old boy and the mob was going to pull ’em off the © 
coach, one little fellow jumps up and says, ‘Here, I'll 
stay—I’m only going three miles further. My father’s 
name’s Davis; he’s known about here, and I'll go be- 
fore the magistrate with this gentleman.’ ‘What, be 
thee Parson Davis’ son?’ says the old boy. ‘ Yes,’ says 
the young ’un. ‘Well, I be mortal sorry to meet thee 
in such company, but for thy father’s sake and thine 
(for thee bist a brave young chap), I'll say no more 
about it. Didn’t the boys cheer him, and the mob 
cheered the young chap; and then one of the biggest 
gets down, and begs pardon werry gentlemanly for all 
the rest, saying as they all had been’ plaguy vexed from 
the first, but didn’t like to ax his pardon till then, ’cause 
they felt they hadn’t ought to shirk the consequences of 
their joke. And then they all got down, and shook 
hands with the old boy, and asked him to all parts of 
the country, to their homes, and we drives off twenty 
minutes behind time, with cheerin’ and hollerin’ as if 
we was county members. But, Lor’ bless you, sir,” 
says the guard, smacking his hand down on his knee, 
and looking full into Tom’s face, “ ten minutes arter they 
was all as bad as ever.” 

Tom showed such undisguised and open-mouthed 
interest in his narrations, that the old guard rubbed up 
his memory, and launched out intoa graphic history of 
all the performances of the boys on the roads for the last 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 108 


twenty years. Off the road he couldn’t go; the exploit 
must have been connected with horses or vehicles to 
hang in the old fellow’s head. Tom tried him off his 
own ground once or twice, but found he knew nothing 
beyond, and so let him have his head, and the rest of 
the road bowled easily away ; for old Blowhard (as the 
boys called him) was a dry old file, with much kindness 
and humor, and a capital spinner of a yarn when he had 
broken the neck of his day’s work, and got plenty of ale 
under his belt. 

What struck Tom’s youthful imagination most was 
the desperate and lawless character of most of the 
stories. Was the guard hoaxing him? He couldn't help 
hoping that they were true. It’s very odd how almost 
all English boys love danger; you can get ten to joina 
game, or climb a tree, or swim a stream, when there’s a 
chance of breaking their limbs or getting drowned, for 
one who'll stay on level ground, or in his depth, or play 
quoits or bowls. 

The guard had just finished an account ot a des- 
perate fight which had happened at one of the fairs, be- 
tween the drovers and the farmers with their whips and 
the boys with cricket-bats and wickets, which arose out 
of a playful but objectionable practice of the boys going 
round to the public houses and taking the linch-pins 
out of the wheels of the gigs, and was moralizing upon 
the way in which the Doctor, “a terrible stern man, he’d 
heard tell,” had come down upon several of the per- 
formers, “sending three on ’em off next morning, each 


106 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


in a po-chay with a parish constable,” when they turned 
a corner and neared the milestone, the third from 
Rugby. By the stone two boys stood, their jackets but- 
toned tight, waiting for the coach. 

“Look here, sir,” said the guard, after giving a sharp 
toot-toot; “there's two on’em, out and out runners 
they be. They comes out about twice or three times a 
week, and spirts a mile alongside of us.” 

And as they came up, sure enough, away went the 
two boys along the footpath, keeping up with the horses 
—the first a light, clean-made fellow, going on springs, 
the other stout and round-shouldered, laboring in his 
pace, but going as dogged as a bull-terrier. 

Old Blowhard looked on admiringly. “See how 
beautiful that there ‘un holds hisself together, and goes 
from his hips, sir,” said he; “he’s a ’mazin fine runner. 
Now many coachmen as drives a first-rate team ’d put 
it on, and try and pass’em. But Bob, sir, bless you, 
he’s tender-hearted ; he’d sooner pull in a bit if he see’d 
"em a-gettin’ beat. I do b’lieve, too, as that there un’d 
sooner break his heart than let us go by him afore next 
mile-stone.” 

At the second mile-stone the boys pulled up short, 
and waved their hats to the guard, who had his watch 
out, and shouted, “4.56,” thereby indicating that the 
mile had been done in four seconds under the five min- 
utes. They passed several more parties of boys, all of 
them objects of the deepest interest to Tom, and came 
in sight of the town at ten minutes before twelve. Tom 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 107 


fetched a long breath, and thought he had never spent a 
pleasanter day. Before he went to bed, he had quite 
settled that it must be the greatest day he should ever 
spend, and didn’t alter his opinion for many a long year 
‘ —if he has yet. 


1038 LOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


CHAPTER V. 


RUGBY AND FOOT-BALL. 


‘Foot and eye opposed 


In dubious strife.” 
Scott. ° 


“AND so here’s Rugby, sir, at last, and you'll be in 
plenty of time for dinner at the school-house, as I tell’d 
you, said the old guard, pulling his horn out of its case, 
and tootle-tooing away, while the coachman shook up 
his horses, and carried them all along the side of the 
school-close, round Dead-man’s corner, past the school 
gates, and down the High Street to the “ Spread Eagle,” 
—the wheelers ina spanking trot, and the leaders canter- 
ing in a style which would not have disgraced “Cherry 
Bob,” “ramping, stamping, tearing, swearing Billy Har- 
wood,” or any other of the old coaching heroes. 

Tom’s heart beat quick as he passed the great school- 
field or close, with its noble elms, in which several 
games at foot-ball were going on, and tried to take in 
at once the long line of gray buildings, beginning with 
the chapel and ending with the school-house, the resi- 
dence of the head-master, where the great flag was lazily 
waving from the highest round tower. And he began 
already to be proud of being a Rugby boy, as he passed 
the school-gates, with the oriel window above, and saw 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 109 


the boys standing there, looking as if the town belonged 
to them, and nodding in a familiar manner to the coach- 
_ man, as if any of them would be quite equal to getting 
on the box, and working the team down street as well 
as he. 

One of the young heroes, however, ran out from the 
rest, and scrambled up behind; where, having righted 
himself, and nodded to the guard, with “ How do, Jem?” 
he turned short round to Tom, and, after looking him 
over for a minute began— 

“T say, you fellow, is your name Brown ?” 

“Yes,’ said Tom, in considerable astonishment ; 
glad, however, to have lighted on some one already who 
seemed to know him. 

“Ah, I thought so: you know my old aunt, Miss 
East ; she lives somewhere down your way in Berkshire. 
She wrote to me that you were coming to-day, and asked 
me to give you a lift.” 

Tom was somewhat inclined to resent the patronizing 
air of his new friend, a boy just about his own height and 
age, but gifted with the most transcendent coolness and 
assurance, which-Tom felt to be aggravating and hard to 
bear, but couldn’t for the life of him help admiring and 
envying—especially when young my lord begins hector- 
ing two or three long loafing fellows, half porter, half 
stablemen, with a strong touch of the blackguard ; and 
in the end arranges with one of them, nicknamed Cooey, 
to carry Tom’s luggage up to the school-house for six- 


pence, 


110 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


a And hark’ee, Cooey, it must be up in ten minutes, 
or no more jobs from me. Come along, Brown.” And 
away swaggers the young potentate, with his hands in 
his pockets, and Tom at his side. 

“ All right, sir,” says Cooey, touching his hat, with a 
leer and a wink at his companions. 

“ Hullo tho’,” says East, pulling up, and taking ano- 
ther look at Tom ; “this'll never do. Haven't you got 
a hat >—we never wear caps here. Only the louts wear 
caps. Bless you, if you were to go into the quadrangle 
with that thing on, I 
The very idea was quite beyond young Master East, and 


don’t .know what'd happen.” 


he looked unutterable things. 

Tom thought his cap a very knowing affair, but con- 
fessed that he had a hat in his hat-box; which was ac- 
cordingly at once extracted from the hind boot, and Tom 
equipped in his go-to-meeting roof, as his new friend 
called it. But this didn’t quite suit his fastidious taste 
in another minute, being too shiny; so, as they walk up 
the town, they dive into Nixon’s the hatter’s, and Tom 
is arrayed, to his utter astonishment, and without paying 
tor it,in a regulation cat-skin at seven-and-sixpence ; 
Nixon undertaking to send the best hat up to the ma- 
tron’s room, school-house, in half an hour. 

“You can send ina note fora tile on Monday, and 
make it all right, you know,” said Mentor; “ we're al- 
lowed two seven-and-sixers a half, besides what we bring 
from home.” | 

Tom by this time began to be conscious of his new 


LOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. TTY 


social position and dignities, and to luxuriate in the real- 
ized ambition of being a public school boy at last, with a 
vested right of spoiling two seven-and-sixers in halfa 
year. 


“You see,’ said his friend, as they strolled up to- 
wards the school gates, in explanation of his conduct— 
“a great deal depends on how a fellow cuts up at first- 
If he’s got nothing odd about him, and answers straight. 
forward, and hold his head up, he gets on. Now you'll 
do very well as to rig, all but that cap. You see I’m 
doing the handsome thing by you, because my father 
knows yours ; besides, I want to please the old lady. 
She gave me half-a-sov this half, and perhaps ’1l double 
it next, if I keep in her good books,” 

There’s nothing for candor like a lower-school boy, 
and East was a genuine specimen—frank, hearty and 
good-natured, well satisfied with himself and his posi- 
tion, and chock full of life and spirits, and all the Rugby 
prejudices and traditions which he had been able to get 
together, in the long course of one half year, during 
which he had been at the school-house. 

And Tom, notwithstanding his bumptiousness, felt 
friends with him at once, and began sucking in all his 
ways and prejudices, as fast as he could understand 
them. 

East was great in the character of cicerone ; he car- 
ried Tom through the great gates, where were only two 
or three boys. These satisfied themselves with the 
stock questions: “You fellow, what's your name? 


112 TOM BROWN’ S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


Where do you come from? How old are you?) Where 
do you board? What form are youin?” And so they 
passed on through the quadrangle and a small court- 
yard, upon which looked down a lot of little windows 
(belonging, as his guide informed him, to some of the 
school-house studies), into the matron’s room, where 
East introduced Tom to that dignitary ; made him give 
up the key of his trunk, that the matron might unpack 
his linen, and told the story of the hat and of his own 
presence of mind, upon the relation whereof the matron 
laughingly scolded him, for the coolest new boy in the ~ 
house; and East, indignant at the accusation of new- 
ness, marched Tom off into the quadrangle, and began 
showing him the schools, and examining him as to his 
literary attainments, the result of which was a prophecy 
that they would be in the same form, and could do their 
iessons together. 

“And now come in and see my study; we shall 
have just time before dinner, and afterwards, before 
calling-over, we'll do the close.” 

Tom followed his guide through the school-house 
hall, which opens into the quadrangle. It is a great 
room thirty feet long and eighteen high, or thereabouts, 
with two great tables running the whole length, and two | 
large fire-places at the side, with blazing fires in them, 
at one of which some dozen boys were standing and 
lounging, some of whom shouted to East to stop; but 
he shot through with his convoy, and landed him in the © 
long, dark passages, with a large fire at the end of each, 7 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 113 


upon which the studies opened. Into one of these, in 
the bottom passage, East bolted with our hero, slam- 
ming and bolting the door behind them, in case of pur- 
suit from the hall, and Tom was for the first time ina 
Rugby boy’s citadel. 

He hadn’t been prepared for separate studies, and 
was not a little astonished and delighted with the palace 
in question. 

It wasn’t very large, certainly, being about six feet 
long by four broad. It couldn’t be called light, as there 
were bars and a grating to the window, which little pre- 
cautions were necessary in the studies on the ground 
floor looking out into the close, to prevent the exit of 
small boys after locking-up, and the entrance of contra- 
band articles. But it was uncommonly comfortable to 
look at, Tom thought. The space under the window at 
the further end was occupied by a square table covered 
with a reasonably clean and whole red and blue check 
tablecloth ; a hard-seated sofa covered with red stuff oc- 
cupied one side, running up to the end, and making a 
seat for one, or by sitting close, for two, at the table ; 
and a good stout wooden chair afforded a seat to another 
boy, so that three could sit and work together. The 
walls were wainscoted half-way up, the wainscot being 
covered with green baize, the remainder with a bright- 
patterned paper, on which hung three or four prints of 
dogs’ heads, Grimaldi winning the Aylesbury steeple- 
chase, Amy Robsart, the reigning Waverley beauty of 


the day, and Tom Crib in a posture of defence, which 
8 


YI4 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


did no credit to the science of that hero, if truly repre- 
sented. Over the door were a row of hat-pegs, and on 
each side bookcases with cupboards at the bottom ; 
shelves and cupboards being filled indiscriminately with 
school-books, a cup or two, a mousetrap and brass can- 
dlesticks, leather straps, a fustian bag and some curious- 
looking articles, which puzzled Tom not a little, until 
- his friend explained that they were climbing irons, and 
showed their use. A cricket-bat and small fishing-rod 
stood up in one corner. 

This was the residence of East and another boy in 
the same form, and had more interest for Tom than 
Windsor Castle or any other residence in the British 
Isles. For was he not about to become the joint owner 
of a similar home, the first place which he could call his 
own? QOne’s own—what a charm there is in the words! 
How long it takes boy and man to find out their worth! 
how fast most of us hold on to them! faster and more 
jealously, the nearer we are to that general home, into 
which we can take nothing, but must go naked as we 
came into the world. When shall we learn that he who 
multiplieth possessions multiplieth troubles, and that 
the one single use of things which we call our own, is 
that they may be his who hath need of them? 

“And shall I have a study like this, too?” said 
Tom. 

“Ves, of course, you'll be chummed with some fel- 
low on Monday, and you can sit here till then,” 

“ What nice places !” 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 115 


“They're well enough,” answered East, patroniz- 
ingly, ‘“ only uncommon cold at nights sometimes. Gow- 
er (that’s my chum) and I make a fire with paper on 
the floor after supper generally, only that makes it so 
smoky.” 

“But there’s a big fire out in the passage,” said 
Tom. 

“Precious little good we get of that, tho’,” said East. 
“ Jones, the praepostor has the study at the fire end, and 
he has rigged up an iron rod and green baize curtain 
across the passage, which he draws at night, and sits 
there with his door open; so he gets all the fire, and 
hears if we come out of our studies after eight, or make 
a noise. However, he’s taken to sitting in the fifth-form 
room lately, so we do get a bit of fire now sometimes, 
only keep a sharp look-out that he don’t catch you be- 
hind his curtain when he comes down, that’s all.” 

A quarter-past one now struck, and the bell began 
tolling for dinner, so they went into the hall and took 
their places, Tom at the very bottom of the second table, 
next to the preepostor (who sat at the end to keep order 
there), and East a few paces higher. And now Tom for 
the first time saw his future school-fellows in a body. 
In they came, some hot and ruddy from foot-ball or long 
walks, some pale and chilly from hard reading in their 
studies, some from loitering over the fire at the pastry- 
cook’s, dainty mortals, bringing with them pickles and 
sauce-bottles to help them with their dinners. And a 
great big-bearded man, whom Tom took for a master, 


116 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS, 


began calling over the names, while the great joints 
were being rapidly carved on a third table in the corner 
by the old verger and the housekeeper. Tom’s turn 
came last, and meanwhile he was all eyes, looking first 
with awe at the great man who sat close to him,and was 
helped first, and who read a hard-looking book all the 
time he was eating ; and when he got up and walked off 
to the fire, at the small boys round him, some of whom 
were reading, and the rest talking in whispers to one 
another, or stealing one another's bread, or shooting 
pellets, or digging their forks through the table-cloth. 
However, notwithstanding his curiosity, he managed to 
make a capital dinner by the time the big man called, 
“Stand up!” and said grace. 

As soon as dinner was over, and Tom had been 
questioned by such of his neighbors as were curious as 
to his birth, parentage, education, and other like matters, 
East, who evidently enjoyed his new dignity of patron 
and mentor, proposed having a look at the close, which 
Tom, athirst for knowledge, gladly assented to, and they 
went out through the quadrangle and past the big fives’ 
court, into the great play-ground. 

“That's the chapel, you see,” said East, “and there 
just behind it is the place for fights ; you see, it’s most 
out of the way for masters, who all live on the other 
side, and don’t come by here after first lesson or callings- 
over. That’s when the fights come off. And ail this 
part where we are is the little side-ground, right up to 
the trees, and on the other side of the trees is the big 


Atanas 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 117 


side-ground, where the great matches are played. And 
there’s the island in the furthest corner ; you'll know 
that well enough next half, when there’s island fagging. 
I say, it’s horrid cold ; let's have a run across,” and away 
went East, Tom close behind him. East was evidently 
putting his best foot foremost, and Tom, who was mighty 
proud of his running, and not a little anxious to show 
his friend that although a new boy he was no milksop, 
laid himself down to work in his very best style. Right 
across the close they went, each doing all he knew, and 
there wasn’t a yard between them when they pulled up 
at the island moat. t 

‘““T say,’ said East, as soon as he got his wind, look- 
ing with much increased respect at Tom, “you ain’t a 
bad scud, not by no means. Well, I’m as warm asa 
toast now.” 

“But why do you wear white trousers in Novem- 
ber?” said Tom. He had been struck by this peculiar- 
ity in the costume of almost all the school-house boys. 

“Why, bless us, don’t you know? — No, I forgot. 
Why, to-day’s the school-house match. Our house plays 
the whole of the school at foot-ball. And we all wear 
white trousers, to show ’em we don’t care for hacks. 
You're in luck to come to-day. You just will see a match ; 
and Brooke’s going to let me play in quarters. That’s 
more than he'll do for any other low-school boy except 
James, and he’s fourteen.” 

“Who's Brooke?” 

“Why, that big fellow that called over at dinner, to 


118 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


be sure. He’s cock of the school, and head of the 
school-house side, and the best kick and charger in 
Rugby.” 

“Oh! but do show me where they play. And tell 
me about it. I love foot-ball so, and have played all my 
life. Won't Brooke let me play ?” 

“Not he,” said East, with some indignation; “why, 
you don’t know the rules—you’ll be a month learning 
them. And then it’s no joke playing-up in a match, I 
can tell you,—quite another thing from your private 
school games. Why, there’s been two collar-bones 
broken this half, and a dozen fellows lamed. And last 
year a fellow had his leg broken.” 

Tom listened with the profoundest respect to this 
chapter of accidents, and followed East across the level 
ground till they came to a sort of gigantic gallows of 
two poles eighteen feet high, fixed upright in the ground 
some fourteen feet apart, with a cross-bar running from 
one to the other, at the height of ten feet or there- 
abouts. 

“This is one of the goals,” said East, “and you see 
the other, across there, right opposite, under the Doc- 
tor’s wall. Well, the match is for the best of three 
goals. Whichever side kicks two goals wins; and it 
won't do, you see, just to kick the ball through these | 
posts; it must go over the cross-bar ; any height’ll do, 
so long as it’s between the posts. You'll have to stay 
in goal to touch the ball when it rolls behind the posts, 
because if the other side touch it they have a try at 
goal. Then we fellows in quarters, we play just about 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 11g 


in front of goal here, and have to turn the ball and kick 
it back before the big fellows on the other side can fol- 
low it up. And in front of us all the big fellows play, 
and that’s where the scrummages are mostly.” 

Tom’s respect increased as he struggled to make out 
his friend’s technicalities, and the other set to work to 
explain the mysteries of “off your side,” “drop-kicks,” 


a2" 66 


“punts,” “places,” and the other intricacies of the great 
science of foot-ball. 

“ But how do you keep the ball between the goals?” 
said he ; “I can’t see why it mightn’t go right down to 
the chapel.” 

“Why, that’s out of play,” answered East. “You 
see this gravel walk running down all along this side of 
the playing-ground, and the line of the elms opposite on 
the other? Well, they're the bounds. As soon as the 
ball goes past them, it’s in touch, and out of play. And 
then whoever first touches it, has to knock it straight 
out amongst the players up, who make two lines with a 
space between them, every fellow going on his own side. 
Ain’t there just fine scrummages then? and the three 
trees you see there which come out into the play, that’s 
a tremendous place when the ball hangs there, for you 
get thrown against the trees, and that’s worse than any 
hack.” 

Tom wondered within himself, as they strolled back 
again towards the fives’ court, whether the matches were 
really such break-neck affairs as East represented, and 
whether, if they were, he should ever get to like them 
and play-up well. 


120 TOM BROWN’ S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


He hadn't long to wonder, however, for next minute 
East cried out, “ Hurra! here’s the punt-about,—come 
along and try your hand at a kick.”. The punt-about is 
the practice ball, which is just brought out and kicked 
about anyhow from one boy to another before callings- 
over and dinner, and at other odd times. They joined 
the boys who had brought it out, all small school-house 
fellows, friends of East ; and Tom had the pleasure of 
trying his skill, and’ performed very creditably, after 
first driving his foot three inches into the ground, and 
then nearly kicking his leg into the air, in vigorous 
efforts to accomplish a drop-kick after the manner of 
Kast. , 

Presently more boys and bigger came out, and boys 
from other houses on their way to calling-over, and 
more balls were sent for. The crowd thickened as three 
o’clock approached ; and when the hour struck, one 
hundred and fifty boys were hard at work. Then the 
balls were held, the master of the week came down in 
cap and gown to calling-over, and the whole school of 
three hundred boys swept into the big school to answer 
to their names. ; 

“TIT may come in, mayn’t I?” said Tom, catching 
East by the arm and longing to feel one of them. 

“Yes, come along, nobody'll say anything. You 
won't be so eager to get into calling-over after a month,” 
replied his friend ; and they marched into the big school 
together, and up to the further end, where that illustri- 
ous form, the lower fourth, which had the honor of 
East's patronage for the time being, stood. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 12t 


The master mounted into the high desk by the door, 
and one of the przepostors of the week stood by him on 
the steps, the other three marching up and down the 
middle of the school with their canes, calling out “Si- 
lence, silence!” The sixth form stood close by the 
door on the left, some thirty in number, mostly great 
big grown men, as Tom thought, surveying them from a 
distance with awe. The fifth form behind them, twice 
their number and not quite so big. These on the left; 
and on the right the lower fifth, shell, and all the junior 
forms in order ; while up the middle marched the three 
praepostors. 

Then the prapostor who stands by the master calls 
out the.names, beginning with the sixth form, and as he 
calls, each boy answers “here” to his name, and walks 
out. Some of the sixth stop at the door to turn the 
whole string of boys into the close ; it is a great match 
day, and every boy in the school, will-he, nill-he, must 
be there. The rest of the sixth go forward into the 
close, to see that no one escapes by any of the side 
gates. 

To-day, however, being the school-house match, none 
of the school-house przepostors stay by the door to watch 
for truants of their side’; there is carte blanche to the 
school-house fags to where they like: “ They trust to our 
honor,” as East proudly informs Tom; “they know 
very well that no school-house boy would cut the match. 
If he did, we’d very soon cut him, I can tell you.” 

The master of the week being short-sighted, and the 


122 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


preepostors of the week small and not well up to their 
work, the lower school boys employ the ten minutes 
which elapse before their names are called in pelting one 
another vigorously with acorns, which fly about in all 
directions. The small przpostors dash in é€very now 
and then, and generally chastise some quiet, timid boy 
who is equally afraid of acorns and canes, while the 
principal performers get dexterously out of the way ; and 
so calling-over rolls on somehow, much like the big world, 
punishments lighting on wrong shoulders, and matters 
going generally in a queer, cross-grained way, but the 
end coming somehow, which is after all the great point. 
And now the master of the week has finished and locked 
up the big school, and the preepostors of the week come 
out, sweeping the last remnant of the school-fags, who had 
been loafing about the corners by the fives’ court in hopes 
of a chance of bolting, before them into the close. 
“Hold the punt-about!’’ “To the goals!” are the 
cries, and all stray balls are impounded by the authorities ; 
and the whole mass of boys moves up towards the two 
goals, dividing as they go into three bodies. That little 
band on the left, consisting of from fifteen to twenty 
boys, Tom amongst them, who are making for the goal 
under the school-house wall, are the school-house boys 
who are not to play-up, and have to stay in goal. The 
larger body moving to the island goal are the school-boys 
in alike predicament. The great mass in the middle 
are the players-up, both sides mingled together ; they 
are hanging their jackets, and all who mean real work 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS, 123 


their hats, waistcoats, neck-handkerchiefs and braces, on 
the railings round the small trees ; and there they go by 
twos and threes up to their respective grounds. There 
is none of the color and tastiness of get-up, you will 
perceive, which lends such a life to the present game at 
Rugby, making the dullest and worst-fought match 4 
pretty sight. Now each house has its own uniform of 
cap and jersey, of some lively color ; but at the time we 
are speaking of, plush caps have not yet come in, or 
uniforms of any sort, except the school-house white 
trousers, which are abominably cold to-day; let us get 
to work, bareheaded and girded with our plain leather 
straps—but we mean business, gentlemen. 

And now that the two sides have fairly sundered, and 
each occupies its own ground, and we get a good look at 
them, what absurdity is this? You don’t mean to say 
that those fifty or sixty boys in white trousers, many of 
them quite small, are going to play that huge mass oppo- 
site? Indeed I do, gentleman: they’re going to try at 
any rate, and won’t make such a bad fight of it either, 
mark my word; for hasn’t old Brooke won the toss, with 
his lucky halfpenny, and got choice of goals and kick-off ? 
The new ball you may see lie there quite by itself, in the 
middle, pointing towards the school or island goal, in 
another minute it will be well on its way there. Use 
that minute in remarking how the school-house side is 
drilled. You will see, in the first place, that the sixth. 
form boy who has the charge of goal has spread his force 
(the goal-keepers) so as to occupy the whole space be- 


24° TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


hind the goal-posts, at distances of about five yards apart ; 
a safe and weil kept goal is the foundation of all good 
play. Old Brooke is talking to the captain of the quar- 
ters, and now he moves away; see how that youngster 
spreads his men (the light brigade) carefully over the 
ground, half-way between their own goal and the body 
of their own players-up (the heavy brigade). These 
again play in several bodies ; there is young Brooke and 
the bulldogs—mark them well-—they are the “fighting 
brigade,” the “diehards,” larking about at leap-frog to 
keep themselves warm, and playing tricks on one another. 
And on each side of old Brooke, who is now standing in 
the middle of the ground and just going to kick-off, you 
see a separate wing of players-up, each with a boy of 
acknowledged prowess to look to—here Warner, and 
there Hedge; but over all is old Brooke, absolute as he 
of Russia, but wisely and bravely ruling over willing and 
worshipping subjects, a true foot-ball king. His face is 
earnest and careful as he glances a last time over his 
array, but full of pluck and hope, the sort of look I hope 


to see in my general when I go out to fight. 
The school side is not organized in the same way, 


The goal-keepers are all in lumps, any-how and no-how ; 
you can’t distinguish between the players-up and the 
boys in quarters, and there is divided leadership; but 
with such odds in strength and weight, it must take 
more than that to hinder them from winning; and so 
their leaders seem to think, for they let the players-up 
manage themselves. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 125 


But now look, there is a slight move forward of the 
school-house wings; a shout of “ Are you ready?” and 
loud affirmative reply. Old Brooke takes half-a-dozen 
quick steps, and away goes the ball spinning towards the 
school goal; seventy yards before it touches ground, 
and at no point above twelve or fifteen feet high, a model 
kick-off ; and the school-house cheer and rush on; the 
ball is returned, and they meet it and drive it back 
among the masses of the school already in motion. 
Then the two sides close, and you can see nothing for 
minutes but a swaying crowd of boys, at one point 
violently agitated. That is where the ball is, and there 
are the keen players to be met, and the glory and the 
hard knocks to be got: you hear the dull thud thud of 
the ball, and the shouts of “ Off your side,” “ Down with 
him,” “ Put him over,” “ Bravo.” This is what we call 
a scrummage, gentlemen, and the first scrummage in a 
school-house match was no joke in the consulship of 
Plancus. 

But see! it has broken ; the ball is driven out on the 
school-house side, and a rush of the school carries it past 
the school-house players-up. “Look out in quarters,” 
Brooke’s and twenty other voices ring out; no need to 
call, tho’; the school-house captain of the quarters has 
caught it on the bound, dodges the foremost school-boys, 
who are heading the rush, and sends it back with a good 
dropkick well intothe enemy’s country. And then follows 
rush upon rush, and scrummage upon scrummage, the 
ball now driven through into the school-house quarters, 


126 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


and now into the school goal; for the school-house have 
not lost the advantage which the kick-off and a slight 
wind gave them at the outset, and are slightly “ penning” 
their adversaries. You say you don’t see much in it all; 
nothing but a struggling mass of boys, and a leather ball, 
which seems to excite them all to great fury, as a red rag 
does a bull. My dear sir, a battle would look much the 
same to you, except that the boys would be men, and the 
balls iron; but the battle would be worth your looking 
at for all that, and so is a foot-ball match. You can’t be 
expected to appreciate the delicate stroke of play, the 
turns by which a game is lost and won,—it takes an old 
player to do that, but the broad philosophy of foot-ball 
you can understand if you will. Come along with me a 
little nearer, and let us consider it together. 

The ball has just fallen again where the two sides 
are thickest, and they close rapidly around it in a scrum- 
mage; it must be driven through now by force or skill, 
till it flies out on one side or the other. Look how dif- 
ferently the boys face it! Here come two of the bull- 
dogs, bursting through the outsiders; in they go, 
straight to the heart of the scrummage, bent on driving 
that ball out on the opposite side. That is what they 
mean to do. My sons, my sons! you are too hot; you 
have gone past the ball, and must struggle now right 
through the scrummage, and get round and back again 
to your own side, before you can be of any further use. 
Here comes young Brooke; he goes in as straight as* 
you, but keeps his head, and backs and bends, holding 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. Tuas ey, 


himself still behind the ball, and driving it furiously 
when he gets the chance. Take a leaf out of his book, 
you young chargers. Here come Speedicut, and Flash- 
man the school-house bully, with shouts and great 
action. Won’t you two come up to young Brooke, after 
locking-up, by the school-house fire, with “Old fellow, 
wasn’t that just a splendid scrummage by the three trees !” 
But he knows you, and so do we. . You don’t really 
want to drive that ball through that scrummage, chan- 
cing all hurt for the glory of the schcol-house, but to 
make us think that’s what you want—a vastly different 
thing ; and fellows of your kidney will never go through 
- more than the skirts of a scrummage, where it’s all push 
and no kicking. We respect boys who keep out of it, 
and don’t sham going in; but you, we had rather not 
say what we think of you. 

Then the boys who are bending and watching on the 
outside, mark them; they are most useful players, the 
dodgers, who seize on the ball the moment it rolls out 
from amongst the chargers, and away with it across to 
the opposite goal; they seldom Zo into the scrummage, 
but must have more coolness than the chargers: as 
endless as are boys’ characters, so are they always of 
facing or not facing a scrummage at foot-ball. 

Three-quarters of an hour are gone; first winds are 
failing, and weight and numbers beginning to tell. 
Yard by yard the school-house have been driven back, 
contesting every inch of ground, The bulldogs are the 
color of mother earth from shoulder to ankle, except 


128 TOM BROWWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


young Brooke, who has a marvellous knack of keeping 
his legs. The school-house are being penned in their 
turn, and now the ball is behind their goal, under the 
Doctor's wall. The Doctor and some of his family are 
there looking on, and seem as anxious as any boy for the 
success of the school-house. We get a minute’s breath- 
ing time before old Brooke kicks out, and he gives the 
word to play strongly for touch, by the three trees, 
Away goes the ball, and the bulldogs after it, and in 
another minute there is a shout of “ Intouch,’ “ Our 
ball.” Now’s your time, old Brooke, while your men are 
still fresh. He stands with the ball in his hand, while 
the two sides form in deep lines opposite one another: _ 
he must strike it straight. out between them. The lines 
are thickest close to him, but young Brooke and two or 
three of his men are shifting up further, where the op- 
posite line is weak. Old Brooke strikes it out straight 
and strong, and it falls opposite his brother. Hurrah! 
that rush has taken it right through the school line, and 
away past the three trees, far into their quarters, and 
young Brooke and the bulldogs are close upon it. The 
school leaders rush back shouting “ Look out in goal,” 
and strain every nerve to catch him, but they are after 
the fleetest foot in Rugby. There they go straight for 
the school goal-posts, quarters scattering before them. 
One after another the bulldogs go down, but young 
Brooke holdson. “Heisdown!” No! a long stagger, 
but the danger is past ; that was the shock of Crew, the 
most dangerous of dodgers. And now he is close to the 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 129 


school goal, the ball not three yards before him. There 
is a hurried rush of the school fags to the spot, but no 
one throws himself on the ball, the only chance, and 
young Brooke has touched it right under the school 
goal-posts. 

The school leaders come up furious, and administer 
toco to the wretched fags nearest at hand; they may 
well be angry, for it is all Lombard-street to a china 
orange that the school-house kick a goal with the ball 
touched in such a good place. Old Brooke of course 
will kick it out, but who shall catch and place it? Call | 
Crab Jones. Here he comes, sauntering along with a 
straw in: his mouth, the queerest, coolest fish in Rugby : 
if he were tumbled into the moon this minute, he would 
just pick himself up without taking his hands out of his 
pockets or turning a hair. But it is a moment when the 
boldest charger’s heart beats quick. Old Brooke stands 
with the ball under his arm motioning the school back ; 
he will not kick-out till they are all in goal, behind the 
posts ; they are all edging forward, inch by inch, to get 
nearer for the rush at Crab Jones, who stands there in 
front of old Brooke to catch the ball. If they can reach 
and destroy him before he catches, the danger is over ; 
and with one and the same rush they will carry it right 
away to the school-house goal. Fond hope! it is kicked 
out and caught beautifully. Crab strikes his heel into 
the ground, to mark the spot where the ball was caught, 
beyond which the school line may not advance; but 


there they stand, five deep, ready to rush the moment 
9 


130 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


the ball touches the ground. Take plenty of room! 
don’t give the rush a chance of reaching you! place it 
true and steady! Trust Crab Jones—he has made a 
small hole with his heel for the ball to lie on, by which 
he is resting on one knee, with his eye on old Brooke. 
“Now!” Crab places the ball at the word, old Brooke 
kicks, and it rises slowly and truly as the school rush 
forward. 

Then.a moment’s pause, while both sides look up at 
the spinning ball. There it flies, straight between the 
two posts, some five feet above the cross-bar, an un- 
questioned goal; and a shout of real genuine joy rings 
out from the school-house players-up, and a faint echo 
of it comes over the close from the goal-keepers under 
the Doctor’s wall. A goal in the first hour—such a 
thing hasn’t been done in the school-house match this 
five years. | 

“ Over!” is the cry; the two sides change goals, and 
the school-house goal-keepers come threading their way 
across through the masses of the school; the most 
openly triumphant of them, amongst whom is Tom, a 
school-house boy of two hours’ standing, getting their 
ears boxed in the transit. Tom is indeed excited above 
measure, and it is all the sixth-form boy, kindest and 
safest of goal-keepers, has been able to do to keep him 
from: rushing out whenever the ball has been near their 
goal. So he holds him by his side, and instructs him in 
the science of touching. 

At this moment Griffith, the itinerant vendor of 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 131 


oranges from Hill Morton, enters the close with his 
heavy baskets; there is a rush of small boys upon the 
little pale-faced man, the two sides mingling together, 
subdued by the great Goddess Thirst, like the English 
and French by the streams of the Pyrenees. The 
leaders are past oranges and apples, but some of them 
visit their coats, and apply innocent-looking ginger-beer 
bottles to their mouths. It is no ginger-beer, though, I 
fear, and will do you no good. One short mad rush, and 
then a stitch in the side, and no more honest play: that’s 
what comes of those bottles. 

But now Griffith’s baskets are empty, the ball is 
again placed midway, and the school are going to kick 
off. - Their leaders have sent their lumber into goal, and 
rated the rest soundly, and one hundred and twenty 
picked players-up are there, bent on retrieving the game. 
They are to keep the ball in front of the school-house 
goal, and then to drive it in by sheer strength and 
weight. They mean heavy play, and no mistake, and so 
old Brooke sees, and places Crab Jones in quarters just 
before the goal, with four or five picked players, who 
are to keep the ball away to the sides, where a try at 
goal, if obtained, will be less dangerous than in front. 
He himself, and Warner and Hedge, who have saved 
themselves till now, will lead the charges. 

“ Are you ready?” “Yes.” And away comes the 
ball, kicked high in the air, to give-the school time to 
rush on and catch it as it falls. And here they are 
amongst us. Meet them like Englishmen, you school- 


132 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


house boys, and charge them home. Now is the time to 
show what mettle is in you; and there shall be a warm 
seat by the hall fire, and honor, and lots of bottled beer 
to-night, for him who does his duty in the next half- 
hour. And they are well met. Again and again the 
cloud of their players-up gathers before our goal, and 
comes threatening on, and Warner and Hedge, with 
young Brooke and the relics of the bull-dogs, break 
through and carry the ball back ; and old Brooke ranges 
the field like Job's war-horse ; the thickest scrummage 
parts asunder before his rush, like the waves before a 
clipper’s bows; his cheery voice rings over the field, and 
his eye is everywhere. And if these miss the ball, and 
it rolls dangerously in front of our goal, Crab Jones and 
his men have seized it and sent it away towards the 
sides with the unerring drop-kick. This is worth living 
for ; the whole sum of school-boy existence gathered up 
into one straining, struggling half-hour—a_ half-hour 
worth a year of common life. 

The quarter to five has struck, and the play slackens 
for a minute before goal; but there is Crew, the artful 
dodger, driving the ball in behind our goal, on the island 
side, where our quarters are weakest. Is there no one 
to meet him? Yes! look at little East! The ball is 
just at equal distances between the two, and they rush 
together, the young man of seventeen and the boy of 
twelve, and kick it at the same moment. Crew passes — 
on without a stagger; East is hurled forward by the 
shock, and plunges on his shoulder, as if he would bury 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 133 


himself in the ground; but the ball rises straight into 
the air, and falls behind Crew’s back, while the “ bravos ” 
of the school-house attest the pluckiest charge of all that 
hard-fought day. Warner picks East up lame and half. 
stunned, and he hobbles back into goal, conscious of 
having played the man. 

. And now the last minutes are come, and the schools 
gather for their last rush, every boy of the hundred and 
twenty who has arun left in him. Reckless of the de- 
fence of their own goal, on they come across the level 
big-side ground, the ball well down amongst them, 
sttaight for our goal like the column of the Old Guard 
up the slope at Waterloo. All former charges have 
been child’s play to this. Warner and Hedge have met 
them, but still on they come. The bull-dogs rush in for 
the last time; they are hurled over or carried back, striv- 
ing hand, foot and eyelids. Old Brooke comes sweep- 
ing round the skirts of the play, and turning short 
round, picks out the very best heart of the scrummage, 
and plunges in. It wavers for a moment—he has the 
ball! No, it has passed him, and his voice rings out 
clear over the advancing tide, “ Look out in goal.” Crab 
Jones catches it for a moment, but before he can kick 
the rush is upon him and passes over him, and he picks 
himself up behind them with his straw in his mouth, a 
little dirtier, but as cool as ever. 

The ball rolls slowly in behind the school-house goal 
not three yards in front of a dozen of the biggest school 
players-up. 

There stands the school-house praposter, safest of 


134 TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DAYS. 


goal-keepers, and Tom Brown by his side, who has 
learned his trade by this time. Now is your time, Tom. 
The blood of all the Browns is up, and the two rush in 
together, and throw themselves on the ball, under the 
very feet of the advancing column, the prepostor on his 
hands and knees arching his back, and Tom all along on 
his face. Over them topple the leaders of the rush, 
shooting over the back of the przpostor, but falling 
flat on Tom, and knocking all the wind out of his small. 
carcase. “Our ball,” says the przepostor, rising with 
his prize; “ but get up there, there’s a little fellow under 
you.” They are hauled and roll off him, and Tom is 
discovered a motionless body. 

Old Brooke picks him up. “Stand back, give him 
air,” says he; and then feeling his limbs, adds, “ No 
bones broken. How do you feel, young ’un ?” 

“ Hah-hah,” gasps Tom, as his wind comes back, 
“pretty well, thank you—all right.” 

“Who is he?” says Brooke. “ Oh, it’s Brown, he’s 
a new boy ; I-know him,” says East, coming up. 

“ Well, he is a plucky youngster, and will make a 
player,” says Brooke. 

And five o'clock strikes. ‘“ No side” is called, and 
the first day of the school-house match is over. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 136 


CHAPTER VI. 


AFTER THE MATCH. 


«« Some food we had.”—Shakspeare. 
fs méros &8vs.—TuEocr. Jd. 

As the boys scattered away from the ground, and 
East, leaning on Tom’s arm, and limping along, was 
beginning to consider what luxury they should go and 
buy for tea, to celebrate that glorious victory, the two 
Brookes came striding by. Old Brooke caught sight of 
East, and stopped, put his hand kindly on his shoulder, 
and said, “ Bravo, youngster! you played famously ; not 
much the matter, I hope?” 

“ No, nothing at all,’ said East,—“only a little twist 
from that charge.” 

“ Well, mind and get all right for next Saturday ;” 
and the leader passed on, leaving East better for those 
few words than all the opodeldoc in England would have 
made him, and Tom ready to give one of his ears for as 
much notice. Ah! light words of those whom we love 
and honor, what a power ye are, and how carelessly 
wielded by those who can use you! Surely for these 
things, also, God will ask an account. 

“Tea’s directly after locking-up, you see,” said East, 
hobbling along as fast as he could, “so you come along 
down to Sally Harrowell’s; that’s our school-house tuck 
shop; she bakes such stunning murphies, we'll have a 


136 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


penn’orth each for tea; come along, or they'll all be 
gone.” | 

Tom’s new purse and money burned in his pocket ; 
he wondered, as they toddled through the quadrangle 
and along the street, whether East would be insulted if 
he suggested further extravagance, as he had not suffi- 
cient faith in a pennyworth of potatoes. At last he 
blurted out,— 

“T say, East, can’t we get something else besides 
potatoes? I’ve got lots of money, you know.” 

“ Bless us! yes, I forgot,’ said East ; “you've only 
just come. You see all my tin’s been gone this twelve 
weeks—it hardly ever lasts beyond the first fortnight ; 
and our allowances were all stopped this morning for 
broken windows, so I haven't got a penny. I’ve got a 
tick at Sally’s, of course; but then I hate running it 
high, you see, towards the end of the half, ’cause one has ; 
to shell out for it all directly one comes back, and that’s 
a bore.” 

Tom didn’t understand much of this talk, but seized 
on the fact that East had no money, and was denying 
himself some little pet luxury in consequence. “ Well, 
what shall I buy?” said he ; “I’m uncommon hungry.” 

“T say,” said East, stopping to look at him and rest 
his leg, “you're a trump, Brown. I’ll do the same by 
you next half. Let’s have a pound of sausages, then: 
that’s the best grub for tea I know of.” 

“Very well,’ said Tom, as pleased as possible ; 
“where do they sell them?” 


TOs BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 137 


‘Oh, over here, just opposite ;”’ and they crossed the 
street and walked into the cleanest little front room of a 
small house, half parlor, half shop, and bought a pound 
of most particular sausages, East talking pleasantly to 
Mrs. Porter while she put them in paper, and Tom doing 
the paying part. 

From*Porter’s they adjourned to Sally Harrowell’s, 
where they found a lot of school-house boys waiting for 
the roast potatoes, and relating their own exploits in the 
day’s match at the top of their voices. The street 
opened at once into Sally’s kitchen, a low brick-floored 
room, with large recess for fire, and chimney-corner 
seats. Poor little Sally, the most good-natured and 
much-enduring of womankind, was bustling about witha 
napkin in her hand, from her own oven to those of her 
neighbors’ cottages, up the yard at the back of the house. 
Stumps, her husband, a short, easy-going shoemaker, 
with a beery humorous eye and ponderous calves, who 
lived mostly on his wife’s earnings, stood in a corner of 
the room, exchanging shots of the roughest description 
of repartee with every boy in turn. “Stumps, you lout, 
you've had too much beer again to-day.” “’Twasn’t of 
your paying for, then.” “ Stumps’ calves are running 
down into his ankles, they want to get to grass.” 
“ Better be doing that than gone altogether like yours,” 
&c. Very poor stuff it was, but it served to make time 
pass ; and every now and then Sally arrived in the mid- 
dle with a smoking tin of potatoes, which was cleared 
off in a few seconds, each boy~as he seized his lot run- 


r38 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 

ing off to the house with “ Put me down two-penn’orth, 

Sally ;” “Put down three-penn’orth between me and. 
Davis,” &c. How she ever kept the accounts so straight 
as she did, in her head, and on her slate, was a perfect 
wonder. 

East and Tom got served at last, and started back 
for the school-house just as the locking-un bell began to 
ring, East on the way recounting the life and adventures of 
Stumps, who was acharacter. Amongst his other small 
avocations, he was the hind carrier of a sedan chair, the 
last of its race, in which the Rugby ladies still went out 
to tea, and in which, when he was fairly harnessed and 
carrying a load, it was the delight of the small mischiev- 
ous boys to follow him and whip his calves. This was 
too much for the temper even of Stumps, and he would 
pursue his tormentors in a vindictive and apoplectic 
manner when released, but was easily pacified by two- 
pence to buy beer with. 

The lower school-boys of the school-house, some fif- 
teen in number, had tea in the lower-fifth school, and 
were presided over by the old verger or head-porter. 
Each boy had a quarter of aloaf of bread and a pat of 
butter, and as much tea as he pleased ; and there was 
scarcely one who didn’t add to this some further luxury, 
such as baked potatoes, a herring, sprats, or something of 
the sort ; but few, at this period of the year, could live up 
to a pound of Porter’s sausages, and East was in great 
magnificence upon the strength of theirs. He had pro- 
duced a toasting-fork frém his study, and set Tom to 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 139 


toast the sausages, while he mounted guard over their 
butter and potatoes ; “’cause,” as he explained, “ you’re 
a new boy, and they’ll play you some trick and get our 
butter, but you can toast just as well as I.” So Tom, 
in the midst of three or four more urchins similarly em- 
ployed, toasted his face and the sausages at the same 
time before the huge fire, till the latter cracked; when 
East from his watch-tower shouted that they were done, 
and then the feast proceeded, and the festive cups of tea 
were filled and emptied, and Tom imparted of the sau- 
sages in small bits to many neighbors, and thought he 
had never tasted such good potatoes or seen such jolly 
boys. They on their parts waived all ceremony, and 
pegged away at the sausages and potatoes, and remem- 
bering Tom’s performance in goal, voted East’s new 
crony a brick. After tea, and while the thing’ were 
being cleared away, they gathered round the fire, and 
the talk on the match still went on ; and those who had 
them to show, pulled up their trowsers and showed the 
hacks they had received in the good cause. 

They were soon, however, all turned out of the school, 
and East conducted Tom up to his bedroom, that he might 
get on clean things and wash himself before singing. 

“What singing?” said Tom, taking his head out of 
his basin, where he had been plunging it in cold water. 

“ Well, you are jolly green,” answered his friend from 
a neighboring basin. “Why, the last six Saturdays of 
every hali, we sing of course: and this is the first of 


{40 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


them. No first lesson to do, you know, and lie in bed 
to-morrow morning.” 

“ But who sings?” 

“Why everybody, of course ; you'll see soon enough. 
We begin directly after supper, and sing till bed-time. 
It ain’t such good fun now tho’ as in the summer half, 
’cause then we sing in the little fives’ court under the 
library, you know. We take out tables, and the big boys 
sit round, and drink beer; double allowance on Satur- 
day nights ; and we cut about the quadrangle between 
the songs, and it looks like a lot of robbers in a cave, 
and thé louts come and pound at the great gates, and 
we pound back again, and shout at them. But this 
half we only sing in the hall. Come along down to my 
study.” 

Their principal employment in the study was to clear 
out East’s table, removing the drawers and ornaments 
and tablecloth; for he lived in the bottom passage, and 
his table was in requisition for the singing. 

Supper came in due course at seven o'clock, consist- 
ing of bread and cheese and beer, which was all saved 
for the singing ; and directly afterwards the fags went to 
work to prepare the hall. The school-house hall, as has 
been said, is a great long high room, with two large fires 
on one side, and two large iron-bound tables, one run- 
ning down the middle, and the other along the wall op- 
posite the fire-places. Around the upper fire the fags 
placed the tables in the form of a horse-shoe, and upon 
them the jugs with the Saturday night’s allowance of 


TOM BROWWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. I4I 


beer. Then the big boys used to drop in and take their 
seats, bringing with them bottled beer and song-books ; 
for although they knew all the songs by heart, it was the 
thing to have an old manuscript book descended from 
some departed hero, in which they were all carefully 
written out. 

The sixth form boys had not yet appeared ; so to fill 
up the gap, an interesting and time-honored ceremony 
was gone through. Each new boy was placed on the 
table in turn, and made to sing a solo, under the penalty 
of drinking a large mug of salt and water if he resisted 
or broke down. However, the new boys all sing like 
nightingales to-night, and the salt and water is not in 
requisition ; Tom, as his part, performing the old west- 
country song of “ The Leather Bottel” with consider- 
able applause. And at the half hour down come the 
sixth and fifth form boys, and take their places at the 
tables, which are filled by the next biggest boys, the 
rest, for whom there is no room at the table, standing 
round outside. 

The glasses and mugs are filled, and then the fugle- 
man strikes up the old sea song— 


“ A wet sheet and a flowing sea, 
And a wind that follows fast,” &c., 


which is the invariable first song in the school-house, 
and all the seventy voices join in, not mindful of har- 
mony, but bent on noise, which they attain decidedly, 
but the general effect isn’t bad. And then follow the 


142 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


“ British Grenadiers,’ “ Billy Taylor,” “The Siege of 
Seringapatam,” “Three Jolly Postboys,” and other vo- 
ciferous songs in rapid succession, including the “ Chesa- 
peake and Shannon,” a song lately introduced in honor 
of old Brooke; and when they come to the words— 


“ Brave Broke he waved his sword, crying, Now, my lads, aboard, 
And we’ll stop their playing Yankee-doodle-dandy oh !” 


you expect the roof to come down. The fifth and sixth 
know that “brave Broke” of the Shannon, was no sort 
of relation to our old Brooke. The fourth-form are uncer- 
tain in their belief, but for the most part hold that old 
Brooke was a midshipman then on board his uncle’s 
ship. And the lower school never doubt for a mo- 
ment that it was our old Brooke who led the board- 
ers, in what capacity they care not a straw. During the 
pauses the bottled-beer corks fly rapidly, and the talk is 
fast and merry, and the big boys, at least all of them 
who have fellow-feeling for dry throats, hand their mugs 
over their shoulders to be emptied by the small ones 
who stand round behind. 

Then Warner, the head of the house, gets up and 
wants to speak, but he can’t, for every boy knows what’s 
coming ; and the big boys who sit at the tables pound them 
and cheer ; and the small boys who stand behind pound 
one another, and cheer, and rush about the hall cheer- 
ing. Then silence being made, Warner reminds th nu 
of the old school-house custom of drinking the healths, 
on the first night of singing, of those who are going to 


TOM BROWN’S SCHVUOL-DA YS. 143 


leave at the end of the half. “He sees that they know 
what he is going to say already—loud cheers)—and so 
won't keep them, but only ask them to treat the toast as 
it deserves. It is the head of the eleven, the head of 
big-side foot-ball, their leader on this glorious day— 
Pater Brooke!” 

And away goes the pounding and cheering again, be- 
coming deafening when old Brooke gets up on his legs; 
till, a table having broken down, and a gallon or so of 
beer been upset, and all throats getting dry, silence en- 
sues, and the hero speaks, leaning his hands on the 
table, and bending a little forward. No action, no tricks 
of oratory ; plain, strong, and straight, like his play. 

“Gentlemen of the school-house! I am very proid 
of the way in which you have received my name, and I 
wish I could say all I should like in return. But I know I 
sha'n’t. However, I’ll do the best I can to say what seems 
to me ought to be said by a fellow who's just going to 
leave, and who has spent a good slice of his life here. 
Eight years it is, and eight such years as I can never 
hope to have again. So now I hope you'll all listen to 
me (loud cries of—‘ That we will’)—for I’m going to 
talk seriously. You're bound to listen to me, for what's 
the use of calling me ‘pater,’ and all that, if you don’t 
mind what I say? And I’m going to talk seriously 
because I feel so. It’s a jolly time, too, getting to the 
half, and a goal kicked by us first day—(tremendous ap- 
plause)—after one of the hardest and fiercest day’s play 
I can remember in eight years—<(frantic shoutings). 


144 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


The school played splendidly, too, I will say, and kept 
it up to the last. That last charge of theirs would have 
carried away a house. I never thought to see anything 
again of old Crab there, except little pieces, when I saw 
him tumbled over by it—(laughter and shouting, and 
great slapping on the back of Jones by the boys nearest 
him). Well, but we beat ’em—(cheers). Aye, but why 
did we beat ’em? Answer me that. (Shouts of ‘ Your 
play.’) Nonsense! ’Twasn’t the wind and kick-off either 
—that wouldn’t doit. ’Twasn’t because we’ve half-a- 
dozen of the best players in the school—as we have. I 
wouldn’t change Warner and Hedge, and Crab,-and the 
young ’un, for any six on their side—(violent cheers). 
But half-a-dozen fellows can’t keep it up for two hours 
against two hundred. Why is it, then? Tl tell you 
what I think. It’s because we’ve more reliance on one 
another, more of a house feeling, more fellowship than 
the school can have. Each of us knows and can de- 
pend on his next hand man better—that’s why we beat 
‘em to-day. We've union, they’ve division—there’s the 
secret—(cheers). But how’s this to be kept up? How’s 
it to be improved? That’s the question. For I take it 
we’re all in earnest about beating the school, whatever 
else we care about. I know I’d sooner win two school- 
house matches running than get the Balliol scholarship 
any day—(frantic cheers). 

“Now, I’m as proud of the house as anyone. I be- 
lieve it’s the best house in the school, out-and-out— 
(cheers). But it’s a long way from what I want to see 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 145 


it. First, there’s a deal of bullying going on. I know 
it ‘well. I don’t pry about and interfere; that only 
makes it more underhand, and encourages the small 
boys to come to us with their fingers in their eyes telling 
tales, and so we should be worse off than ever. It’s 
very little kindness for the sixth to meddle generally— 
you youngsters, mind that. You'll be all the better foot- 
ball players for learning to stand it, and to take your 
own parts, and fight it through. But depend on it, 
there’s nothing breaks up a house like bullying. Bul- 
lies are cowards, and one coward makes many; so good- 
by to the school-house match if bullying gets ahead 
here. (Loud applause from the small boys, who look 
meaningly at Flashman and other boys at the tables.) 
Then there’s fuddling about in the public-house, and 
drinking bad spirits, and punch, and such rot-gut stuff. 
That won’t make good drop-kicks or chargers of you, 
take my word for it. You get plenty of good beer here, 
and that’s enough for you; and drinking isn’t fine or 
manly, whatever some, of you may think of it. 

“ One other thing I must havea word about. <A lot 
of you think and say, for I’ve heard you, ‘ There’s this 
new Doctor hasn’t been here so long as some of us, and 
he’s changing all the old customs. Rugby, and the 
school-house especially, are going to the dogs. Stand 
up for the good old ways, and down with the Doctor !’ 
Now, I’m as fond of old Rugby customs and ways as 
any of you, and I’ve been here longer than any of you, 


and I'll give you a word of advice in time, for I shouldn’t 
10 


146 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


like to see any of you getting sacked. *© Down with the 
Doctor!’ is easier said than done. You'll find him 
pretty tight on his perch, I take it, and an awkwardish 
customer to handle in that line. Besides, now, what 
customs has he put down? There was the good old 
custom of taking the linchpins out of the farmers’ and 
bagmen’s gigs at the fairs, and a cowardly blackguard 
custom it was. We all know what came of it, and no 
wonder the Doctor objected to it. But, come now, any 
of you, name a custom that he has put down.” 

“ The hounds,” calls out a fifth-form boy, clad ina 
green cutaway with brass buttons and cord trousers, the 
leader of the sporting interest, and reputed a great rider 
and keen hand generally. 

“Well, we had six or seven mangy harriers and 
beagles belonging to the house, [’ll allow, and had had 
them for years, and that the Doctor put them down. 
But what good ever came of them? Only rows with all 
the keepers for ten miles round ; and big-side Hare and 
Hounds is better fun ten times over. What else?” 

No answer. 

“Well, Iwon’t goon. Think it over for yourselves ; 
you'll find, I believe, that he don’t meddle with any one 
that’s worth keeping. And mind now, I say again, look 
out for squalls, if you will go your own way, and that 
way ain’t the Doctor’s, for it’ll lead to grief. You all 
know that I’m not the fellow to back a master through 
thick and thin. If I saw him stopping foot-ball, or cricket, 
or bathing, or sparring, I'd be as ready as any fellow to 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. — 147 


stand up about it. But he don’t—he encourages them ; 
didn’t you see him out to-day for half an hour watching 
us?” (loud cheers for the Doctor ;) “and he’s a strong 
true man, and a wise one too, and a public-school man 
too.” (Cheers.) “And so let’s stick to him, and talk 
no more rot, and drink his health as the head of the 
house.” (Loud cheers.) “ And now I’ve done blowing 
up, and very glad I am to have done. But it’s a solemn 
thing to be thinking of leaving a place which one has 
lived in and loved for eight years ; and if one can say a 
word for the good of the old house at such a time, why, 
it should be said, whether bitter or sweet. If I hadn't 
been proud of the house and you, aye, no one knows 
how proud, I shouldn’t be blowing you up. And now 
let’s get to singing. But before I sit down I must give 
you a toast to be drunk with three-times-three and all 
the honors. It’s a toast which I hope each one of us, 
wherever he may go hereafter, will never fail to drink 
when he thinks of the brave bright days of his boyhood. 
It’s a toast which should bind us all together, and to 
those who have gone before, and who'll come after us 
here. It is the dear old school-house—the best house 
of the best school in England!” 

My dear boys, old and young, you who have be- 
longed, or do belong, to other schools and other houses, 
don’t begin throwing my poor little book about the room, 
and abusing me and it, and vowing you'll read no more 
when you get to this point. I allow you’ve provocation 


for it, But, come now—would you, any of you, give a 


5 


148 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


fig for a fellow who didn’t believe in, and stand up for, 
his own house and his own school? You know you 
wouldn’t. Then don’t object to my cracking up the old 
school-house, Rugby. Haven't I a right to do it, when 
I’m taking all the trouble of writing this true history for 
all of your benefits? If you ain’t satisfied, go and write 
the history of your own houses in your own times, and 
say all you know for your own schools and houses, pro- 
vided it’s true, and I’ll read it without abusing you. 

The last few words hit the audience in their weakest 
place; they had been ‘not altogether enthusiastic at 
several parts of old Brooke’s speech; but “the best 
house of the best school in England’”’ was too much for 
them all, and carried even the sporting and drinking in- 
terests off their legs in rapturous applause, and (it is to 
be hoped) resolutions to lead a new life and remember 
old Brooke’s words ; which, however, they didn’t alto- 
gether do, as will appear hereafter. 

But it required all old Brooke’s popularity to carry 
down parts of his speech, especially that relating to the 
Doctor. For there are no such bigoted holders by estab- 
lished forms and customs, be they ever so foolish or 
meaningless, as English school-boys, at least as the 
school-boy of our generation. We magnified into heroes 
every boy who had left, and looked upon him with awe 
and reverence, when he revisited the place a year or so 
afterwards, on his way to or from Oxford or Cambridge ; 
and happy was the boy who remembered him, and sure 
of an audience as he expounded what he used to do 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 149 


and say, though it were sad, enough stuff to make angels 
not to say head-masters, weep. 

We looked upon every trumpery little custom and 
habit which had obtained in the school as though it had 
been a law of the Medes and Persians, and regarded the 
infringement or variation of it as a sort of sacrilege. And 
the Doctor, than whom no man or boy had a stronger lik- 
ing for old school customs which were good and sensible, 
had, as has already been hinted, come into most decided 
collision with several which were neither the one nor 
the other. And as old Brooke had said, when he came 
into collision with boys or customs, there was nothing 
for them but to give in or take themselves off ; because 
what he said had to be done, and no mistake about it. 
And this was beginning to be pretty clearly understood ; 
the boys felt that there was a strong man over them, 
who would have things his own way; and hadn’t yet 
learned that he was a wise and loving man also. His 
personal character and influence had not had time to 
make itself felt, except by a very few of the bigger boys 
with whom he came more directly in contact ; and he 
was looked upon with great fear and dislike by the great 
majority even of his own house. For he had found 
school, and school-house, in a state of monstrous license 
and misrule, and was still employed in the necessary but 
unpopular work of setting up order with a strong hand. 

However, as has been said, old Brooke triumphed, 
and the boys cheered him, and then the Doctor. And 
then more songs came, and the health of the other boys 


150 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 
about to leave, who each made a speech, one flowery, 


another maudlin, a third prosy, and so on, which are not 
necessary to be here recorded. 


Half-past nine struck in the middle of the perform: 


ance of “ Auld Lang Syne,” a most obstreperous pro- 
ceeding, during which there was an immense amount of 
standing with one foot on the table, knocking mugs to- 
gether and shaking hands, without which accompaniment 
it seems impossible for the youth of Britain to take part 
in that famous old song. The under-porter of the school- 
house entered during the performance, bearing five or 
six long wooden candlesticks, with lighted dips in them, 
which he proceeded to stick into their holes in such 
part of the great tables as he could get at; and then 
stood outside the ring till the end of the song, when he 
was hailed with shouts. 

“Bill, you old muff, the half-hour hasn’t struck.” 

“ Here, Bill, drink some cock-tail.” “Sing us a song 
old boy.” “Don’t you wish you may get the table?” 
Bill drank the proffered cock-tail not unwillingly, and 
putting down the empty glass, remonstrated: “ Now, 
gentlemen, there’s only ten minutes to prayers, and we 
must get the hall straight.” 

Shouts of “No, no!” and a violent effort to strike 
up “ Billy Taylor” for the third time. Bill looked appeal- 
ingly to old Brooke, who got up and stopped the noise. 
“Now, then, lend a hand, you youngsters, and get the 
tables back, clear away the jugs and glasses. Bill's 
right. Open the windows, Warner. The boy addressed, 


TOM BROWWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. nt 


who sat by the long ropes, proceeded to pull up the great 
windows, and let in aclear fresh rush of night air, which 
made the candles flicker and gutter; and the fires roar- 
The circle broke up, each collaring his own jug, glass 
and song-book. Bill pounced on the big table, and 
began to rattle it away to its place outside the buttery- 
door. The lower-passage boys carried off their small 
tables, aided by their friends, while above all, standing 
on the great hall table, a knot of untiring sons of har- 
mony, made night doleful by a prolonged performance 
of “God save the King.” His Majesty King William 
IV. then reigned over us, a monarch deservedly popular 
amongst the boys addicted to melody, to whom he was 
chiefly known from the beginning of that excellent, if 
slightly vulgar, song in which they much delighted— 


“ Come, neighbors all, both great and small, 
Perform your duties here, 
And loudly sing, ‘live Billy our king,’ 
For bating the tax upon beer.’’ 


Others of the more learned in songs also celebrated his 
praises in a sort of ballad, which I take to have been 
written by some Irish loyalist. Ihave forgotten all but 
the chorus, which ran— 


“God save our good King William, be his name forever blest, 
He’s the father of all his people, and the guardian of all the rest.” 


In troth we were loyal subjects in those days, in a rough 
way. I trust that our successors make as much of her 
present Majesty, and, having regard to the greater re- 


152 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


finement of the times, have adopted or written other 
songs equally hearty, but more civilized, in her honor. 
Then the quarter to ten struck, and the prayer-bell 
rang. The sixth and fifth form boys ranged themselves 
in their school order along the wall, on either side of the 
great fires, the middle fifth and upper schocl-boys round 
the long table in the middle of the hall, and the lower 
school-boys round the upper part of the second long 
table, which ran down the side of the hall furthest from 
the fires. Here Tom found himself at the bottom of all, 
in a state of mind and body not at all fit for prayers, as 
he thought ; and so tried hard to make himself serious, 
but couldn't, for the life of him, do anything but repeat 
in his head the choruses of some of the songs, and stare 
at all the boys opposite, wondering at the brilliancy of 
their waistcoats, and speculating what sort of fellows 
they were. The steps of the head-porter are heard on 
the stairs, and a light gleams at the door. “Hush!” 
from the fifth form boys who stand there, and then in 
strides the Doctor, cap on head, book in one hand, and 
gathering up his gown in the other. He walks up the 
middle, and takes his post by Warner, who begins calling 
over the names. The Doctor takes no notice of any- 
thing, but quietly turns over his book and finds the 
place, and then stands, cap in hand and finger in book, 
looking straight before his nose. He knows better than 
anyone when to look, and when to see nothing; to- 
night is singing night, and there’s been lots of noise and 
no harm done ; nothing but beer drunk, and nobody the 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 153 


worse for it; though some of them do look hot and ex- 
cited. So the Doctor sees nothing, but fascinates Tom 
ina horrible manner as he stands there, and reads out 
the psalm in that deep, ringing, searching voice of his. 
Prayers are over, and Tom still stares open-mouthed 
after the Doctor’s retiring figure, when he feels a pull 
at his sleeve, and turning round, sees East. 

“TI say, were you ever tossed in a blanket ?” 

“No,” said Tom ; “why?” 

“’Cause there'll be tossing to-night most likely, be- 
fore the sixth come up to bed. So, if you funk, you just 
come along and hide, or else they'll catch you and toss 
“Were you ever tossed? Does it hurt?” inquired 
Tom. 

“Oh, yes, bless you, adozen of times,” said East, as 
he hobbled along by Tom’s side up stairs. “It don’t 
hurt unless you fall on the floor. But most fellows don’t 
like it.” 

They stopped at the fireplace in the top passage, 
where were a crowd of small boys whispering together, 
and evidently unwilling to go up into the bed-rooms. 
In a minute, however, a study door opened, and a sixth 
form boy came out, and off they all scuttered up the 
stairs, and then noiselessly dispersed to their different 
rooms. Tom’s heart beat rather quick as he and East 
reached their room, but he had made up his mind. “I 
sha’n’t hide, East,” he said. 

“Very well, old fellow,” replied East, evidently 


154 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


pleased; “no more shall I—they’ll be here for us 
directly.” 

The room was a great big one witha dozen of beds 
init, but not a boy that Tom could see, except East and 
himself. East pulled off his coat and waistcoat, and 
then sat on the bottom of the bed, whistling, and pulling 
off his boots; Tom followed his example. 

A noise and steps were heard inthe passage, the door 
opens, and in rush four or five great fifth form boys 
headed by Flashman in his glory. 

Tom and East slept in the further corner of the 
room, and were not seen at first. 

“Gone to ground, eh?” roared Flashman; “push 
’em out then, boys! look under the beds:” and he 
pulled up the little white curtain of the one nearest him. 
“Who-o-op,” he roared, pulling away at theleg of a small 
boy, who held on tight to the leg of the bed, and sung 
out lustily for mercy. 

“Here lend a hand, one of you, and help me pull out 
this young howling brute. Hold your tongue, sir, or I’ll 
kill you.” 

“Oh, please, Flashman, please, Walker, don’t toss 
me! I'll fag for you, I'll do anything, only don’t toss 
me.” 

“You be hanged,” said Flashman, lugging the 


wretched boy along, “twon’t hurt you, you! Come 
along, boys, here he is.” 
“Tsay, Flashey,” sung out another of the big boys, 


“drop that ; you heard what old Pater Brooke said to- 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 1Bé 


night. Ill be hanged if we'll toss any one against his 
will—no more bullying. Let him go, I say.” 

Flashman, with an oath and a kick, released his 
prey, who rushed headlong under his bed again, for fear 
they should change their minds, and crept along under- 
neath the other beds, till he got under that of the sixth- 
form boy, which he knew they daren’t disturb. 

“There’s plenty of youngsters don’t care about it,” 
said Walker. “ Here, here’s Scud East—you'll be tossed, 
won't you, young un?” Scud was East’s nickname, or 
Black, as we call it, gained by his fleetness of foot. 

“Yes,” said East, “if you like, only mind my foot.” 

“ And here’s another who didn’t hide. Hullo! new 
‘oy; what’s your name, sir?” 

“ Brown.” 

“Well, Whitey Brown, you don’t mind being tossed ?” 

“No,” said Tom, setting his teeth. 

“Come along then, boys,” sung out Walker, and 
away they all went, carrying along Tom and East, to 
the intense relief of four or five other small boys, who 
crept out from under the beds and behind them. 

“What a trump Scud is!” said one. “They won't 
come back here now.” 

“ And that new boy, too; he must be a good plucked 
concn 

« Ah! wait till he has been tossed on to the floor ; 
see how he’l] like it then!” 

Meantime the procession went down the passage to 
Number 7, the largest room, and the scene of tossing, 


166 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


in the middle of which was a great open space. Here 
they joined other parties of the bigger boys, each with a 
captive or two, some willing to be tossed, some sullen, 
and some frightened to death. At Walker’s suggestion 
all who were afraid were let off, in honor of Pater 
Brooke’s speech. 

Then a dozen big boys seized hold of a blanket, drag- 
ged from one of the beds. “In with Scud, quick, there’s 
no time to lose.” East was chucked into the blanket. 
“Once, twice, thrice, and away ;” up he went like a 
shuttlecock, but not quite up to the ceiling. 

“ Now, boys, with a will,’ cried Walker, “ once, twice, 
thrice, and away!” This time he went clean up, and 
kept himself from touching the ceiling with his hand, 
and so again a third time, when he was «turned out, and 
up went another boy. And then came Tom’s turn. He 
lay quite still, by East’s advice, and didn’t dislike the 
“once, twice, thrice;” but the “away” wasn’t so pleas- 
ant. They were in good wind now, and sent him slap 
up to the ceiling first time, against which his knees 
came rather sharply. But the moment’s pause before 
descending was the rub—the feeling of utter helpless- 
ness, and of leaving his whole inside behind him stick- 
ing to the ceiling. Tom was very near shouting to be 
set down, when he found himself back in the blanket, 
but thought of East, and didn’t, and so took his three 
bad tosses without a kick or a cry, and was called a young 


trump for his pains. 
He and East, having earned it, stood now looking on. 


TOM BROWWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 157 


No catastrophe happened, as all the captives were cool 
hands, and didn’t struggle. This didn’t suit Flashman. 
What your real bully likes in tossing is when the boys 
kick and struggle, or hold on to one side of the blanket, 
and so get pitched bodily on to the floor ; it’s no fun to 
him when no one is hurt or frightened. 

“Let’s toss two of them together, Walker,” suggested 
he. “What a cursed bully you are, Flashey!” rejoined 
the other. “ Up with another one.” 

And so now two boys were tossed together, the pe- 
culiar hardship of which is, that it’s too much for human 
nature to lie still then and share troubles ; and so the 
wretched pair of small boys struggle in the air which 
shall fall a-top in the descent, to the no small risk of 
both falling out of the blanket, and the huge delight of 
brutes like Flashman. 

But now there’s acry that the przepostor of the room 
is coming; so the tossing stops, and all scatter to their 
different rooms. And Tom is left to turn in, with the 
first day’s experience of a public school to meditate 
upon. 


158 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


CHAPTER VII. 


SETTLING TO THE COLLAR. 


Says Giles, “‘’Tis mortal hard to go, 
But if so be’s I must, 

I mean to follow arter he 
As goes hisself the fust.”,—Badllad. 


EverysBopy, I suppose, knows the dreamy, delicious 
state in which one lies, half asleep, half awake, while 
consciousness begins to return, after a sound night’s 
rest in a new place which we were glad to be in, follow- 
ing upon a day of unwonted excitement and exertion. 
There are few pleasanter pieces of life. The worst of it 
is that they last such a short time; for, nurse them as 
you will, by lying perfectly passive in mind and body, 
you can’t make more than five minutes or so of them ; 
after which time the stupid, obtrusive, wakeful entity 
which we call “I,” as impatient as he is stiff-necked, 
spite of our teeth will force himself back again, and take 
possession of us down to our very toes. 

It was in this state that Master Tom lay at half-past 
seven on the morning following the day of his arrival, and 
from his clean little white bed watched the movements 
of Bogle (the generic name by which the successive 
shoeblacks of the schoolhouse were known), as he 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 159 


marched round from bed to bed, collecting the dirty 
shoes and boots, and depositing clean ones in their 
places. 

There he lay, half doubtful as to where exactly in the 
universe he was, but conscious that he had made a step 
in life which he had been anxious to make. It was only 
just light as he looked lazily out of the wide windows, 
and saw the tops of the great elms, and the rooks cir- 
cling about, and cawing remonstrances to the lazy ones 
of their commonwealth, before starting in a body for 
the neighboring ploughed fields. The noise of the 
room-door closing behind Bogle, as he made his exit 
with the shoe-basket under his arm, roused him thor- 
oughly, and he sat up in bed and looked round the 
room. What in the world could be the matter with his 
shoulders and loins? He felt as if he had been severely 
beaten all down his back, the natural result of his per- 
formance at his first match. He drew up his knees and 
rested his chin on them, and went over all the events of 
yesterday, rejoicing in his new life, what he had seen of 
it, and all that was to come. 

Presently one or two of the other boys roused them- 
selves, and began to sit up and talk to one another in 
low tones. Then East, after a roll or two, came to an 
anchor also, and, nodding to Tom, began examining his 
ankle. 

“What a pull,” said he, “that it’s lie-in-bed, for I 
shall be as lame as a tree, I think.” 


It was Sunday morning, and Sunday lectures had 


160 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


not yet been established; so that nothing but breakfast 
intervened between bed and eleven o clock chapel—a 
gap by no means easy to fill up: in fact, though received 
with the correct amount of grumbling, the first-lecture 
instituted by the Doctor shortly afterwards was a great 
boon to the school. It was lie in bed, and no one was 
in a hurry to get up, especially in rooms where the 
sixth-form boy was a good-tempered fellow, as was the 
case in Tom’s room, and allowed the small boys to talk 
and laugh, and do pretty much what they pleased, so 
long as they did'nt disturb him. His bed was a bigger 
one than the rest, standing in the corner by the fire- 
place, with washing-stand and large basin by the side, 
where he lay in state, with his white curtains tucked in 
so as to form a retiring-place: an awful subject of con- 
templation to Tom, who slept nearly opposite, and 
watched the great man rouse himselt and take a book 
from under his pillow, and begin reading, leaning his 
head on his hand, and turning his back to the room. 
Soon, however, a noise of striving urchins arose, and 
muttered encouragements from the neighboring boys, of 
—‘“‘Go it, Tadpole!” “Now, young Green!” “ Haul 
away his blanket!” “Slipper him on the hands!” 
Young Green and little Hall, commonly called Tadpole, 
from his great black head and thin legs, slept side by 
side far away by the door, and were forever playing one 
another tricks, which usually ended, as on this morning, 
in open and violent collision : and now, unmindful of all 
order and authority, they were each hauling away at the 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 16x 


other’s bed-clothes with one hand, and with the other, 
armed with a slipper, belaboring whatever portion of the 
body of his adversary came within reach. 

“ Hold that noise, up in the corner,” called out the 
preepostor, sitting up and looking round his curtains ; 
and the Tadpole and young Green sank down into their 
disordered beds, and then, looking at his watch, added, 
“ Hullo, past eight !—whose turn for hot water ?” 

(Where the przepostor was particular in his ablu- 
tions, the fags in his room had to descend in turn to the 
kitchen, and beg or steal hot water for him; and often 
the custom extended further, and two boys went down 
every morning to get a supply for the whole room.) 

“East’s and Tadpole’s,’ answered the senior fag, 
who kept the rota. 

“T can’t go,” said East, “I’m dead lame.” 

“Well, be quick, some of you, that’s all,” said the 
great man, as he turned out of bed, and putting on his 
slippers, went out into the great passage which runs the 
whole length of the bedrooms, to get his Sunday habili- 
ments out of his portmanteau. 

“ Let me go for you,” said Tom to East, “I should 
like 1Gt: 

“Well, thank’ee, that’s a good fellow. Just pull on 
your trousers, and take your jug and mine. Tadpole 
will show you the way.” 

As soon as Tom and the Tadpole, in nightshirts and 
trousers, started off down stairs, and through “Thos’s 


hole,” as the little buttery, where candles and beer and 
il ; 


162 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


bread and cheese were served out at night, was called; 
across the school-house court, down a long passage, and 
into the kitchen, where, after some parley with the stal- 
wart, handsome cook, who declared that she had filled a 
dozen jugs already, they got their hot water, and returned 
with all speed and great caution. As :t was, they nar- 
rowly escaped capture by some privateers from the fifth- 
form rooms, who were on the look-out for hot-water 
convoys, and pursued them up to the very door of their 
room, making them spill half their load in the passage. 
“ Better than going down again tho’,’ Tadpole remarked, 
as we should have had to do if those beggars had caught 
iS ; 

By the time that the calling-over bell rang, Tom and 
his new comrades were all down, dressed in their best 
clothes, and he had the satisfaction of answering “here” 
to his name for the first time, the przeposter of the 
week having put it in at the bottom of his list. And 
then came breakfast, and a saunter about the close and 
town with East, whose lameness only became severe 
when any fagging had to be done. And so they wiled 
away the time until morning chapel. 

It was a fine November morning, and the alos soon 
became alive with boys of all ages, who sauntered about 
on the grass, or walked around the gravel walk, in par- 
ties of two or three. East, still doing the cicerone, 
pointed out all the remarkable characters to Tom as they 
passed: Osbort, who could throw a cricket-ball from the 
_ iittle-side. ground: ever the rook trees to the Doctor's 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 163 


wall ; Gray, who had got the Balliol scholarship, and 
what East evidently thought of much more importance, 
a half-holiday for the school by his success.; Thorne, 
who had run ten miles in two minutes over the hour ; 
Black, who had held his own against the cock of the 
town in the last row with the louts ; and many more 
heroes who then and there walked about and were wor- 
shipped, all trace of whom has long since vanished from 
the scene of their fame; and the fourth-form boy, who 
reads their names: rudely cut out on the old hall tables, 
or painted upon the big side-cupboard (if hall tables and 
big side-cupboards still exist), wonders what manner of 
boys they were. It will be the same with you who won- 
der, my sons, whatever your prowess may be in cricket 
or scholarship, or foot-ball. Two or three years, more or 
less, and then the steadily advancing, blessed wave will 
pass over your names as it has passed over ours. Never- - 
theless, play your games and do your work manfully; 
see only that that be done, and let the remembrance of 
it take care of itself. 

The chapel-bell began to ring at a quarter to eleven, 
and Tom got in early and took his place in the lowest 
row, and watched all the other boys come in and take 
their places, filling row after row; he tried to construe 
the Greek text which was inscribed over the door with 
the slightest possible success, and wondered which of 
the masters, who walked down the chapel and took their 
seats in the exalted boxes at the end, would be his lord. 
And then came the closing of the doors, and the Doctor 


164 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


in his robes and the service, which, however, didn’t im- 
press him much, for his feeling of wonder and curiosity 
was too strong. And the boy on one side of him was 
scratching his name on the oak pannelling in front, and 
he couldn’t help watching to see what the name was, and 
whether it was well scratched ; and the boy on the other 
side went to sleep and kept falling against him ; and on 
the whole, though many boys even in that part of the 
school were serious and attentive, the general atmos- 
phere was by no means devotional ; and when he got 
into the close again, he didn’t feel at all comfortable, or 
as if he had been to church. 

But at afternoon chapel it was quite another thing. 
He had spent the time after dinner writing home to his 
mother, and so was in a better frame of mind; and his 
first curiosity was over, and he could attend more to the 
service. As the hymn after the prayers was being sung, 
and the chapel was getting a little dark, he was begin- 
ning to feel that he had been really worshipping. And 
then came the great event in his life, as in every Rugby 
boy’s life of that day—the first sermon from the Doctor. 

More worthy pens than mine have described that 
scene. The oak pulpit standing out by itself above the 
school seats. The tall gallant form, the kindling eye, 
the voice, now soft as the low notes of a flute, now clear 
and stirring as the call of the light infantry bugle, of 
him who stood there Sunday after Sunday, witnessing 
and pleading for his Lord, the king of righteousness and 
Jove and glory, with whose spirit he was filled, and in 


~ . TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 165 


whose power he spoke. The long lines of young faces, 
rising tier above tier down the whole length of the 
chapel, from the little boy’s who had just left his mother 
to the young man’s who was going out next week into 
the great world rejoicing in his strength. It was a great 
and solemn sight, and never more so than at this time 
of year, when the only lights in the chapel were in the 
pulpit and at the seats of the preepostors of the week, 
and the soft twilight stole over the rest of the chapel, 
deepening into darkness in the high gallery behind the 
organ. 

But what was it, after all, which seized and held 
these three hundred boys, dragging them out of them- 
selves, willing or unwilling, for twenty minutes, on Sun- 
day afternoons? True, there always were boys scat- 
tered up and down the school who in heart and 
head were worthy to hear and able to carry away the 
deepest and wisest words there spoken. But these were 
a minority always, generally a very small one, often so 
small a one as to be countable on the fingers of your 
hand. What was it that moved and held us, the rest of 
the three hundred reckless, childish boys, who feared 
the Doctor with all our hearts, and very little besides in 
heaven or earth: who thought more of our sets in the 
school than of the Church of Christ, and put the tradi- 
tions of Rugby and the public opinion of boys in our 
daily life above the laws of God? We couldn’t enter 
into half that we heard; we hadn’t the knowledge of 
our own hearts or the knowledge of one another, and 


166 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 

little enough of the faith, hope, and love needed to that 
end. But we listened, as all boys in their better moods 
will listen (aye, and men too, for the matter of that), to 
a man whom we felt to be, with all his heart, and soul, 
and strength, striving against whatever was mean, and 
unmanly, and unrighteous in our little world. It was. 
not the cold clear voice of one giving advice and warn- 
ing from serene heights to those who were struggling 
and sinning below, but the warm living voice of one 
who was fighting for us and by our sides, and calling on 
us to help him and ourselves and one another. And 
so, wearily and little by little, but surely and steadily, 
on the'whole, was brought home to the young boy, for 
the first time, the meaning of his life,—that it was no 
fool’s or sluggard’s paradise into which he had wandered 
by chance, but a battle-field ordained from of old, where 
there are no spectators, but the youngest must take his 
side, and the stakes are life and death. And he who 
roused this consciousness in them showed them at the 
same time, by every word he spoke in the pulpit, and by 
his whole daily life, how that battle was to be fought, 
and stood there before them their fellow-soldier and the 
captain of their band. The true sort of captain, too, for 
a boy’s army, one who had no misgivings and gave no 
uncertain word of command, and, let who would yield or 
make truce, would fight the fight out (so every boy felt) 
to the last gasp and the last drop of blood. Other sides 
of his chafacter might take hold of and influence boys 
here and there, but it was this thoroughness and un- 


TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DA YS. 164 
daunted courage which, more than anything else, won 
his way to the hearts of the great mass of those on 
whom he left his mark, and made them believe first in 
him, and then in his Master. 

It was this quality above all others which moved such 
boys as our hero, who had nothing whatever remarkable 
about him except excess of boyishness, by which I mean 
animal life in its fullest measure, good nature and hon- 
est impulses, hatred of injustice and meanness, and 
thoughtlessness enough to sink a three-decker. And 
so, during the next two years, in which it was more than 
doubtful whether he would get good or evil from the 
school, and before any steady purpose or principle grew 
up in him, whatever his week’s sins and shortcomings 
might have been, he hardly ever left the chapel on Sun- 
day evenings without a serious resolve to stand by and 
follow the Doctor, and a feeling that it was only cow- 
ardice (the incarnation of all other sins in such a boy’s 
-mind) which hindered him from doing so with all his 
heart. 

The next day Tom was placed in the third form, and 
began his lessons in a corner of the big school. He 
found the work very easy, as he had been well grounded, 
and knew his grammar by heart; and, as he had no in- 
timate companion to make him idle (East and his other 
school-house friends being in the lower fourth, the form 
above him), he soon gained golden opinions from his 
master, who said he was placed too low, and should be 
put out at the end of the half-year. So all went well 


168 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 
with him in school, and he wrote the most flourishing 
letters home to his mother, full of his own success and 
the unspeakable delights of a public school. 

In the house, too, all went well. The end of the 
half-year was drawing near, which kept everybody in a 
good humor, and the house was ruled well and strongly 
by Warner and Brooke. True, the general system was 
rough and hard, and there was bullying in nooks and 
corners—bad signs for the future ; but it never got fur- 
ther, or dared show itself openly, stalking about the 
passages and hall and bedrooms, and making the life of 
the small boys a continual fear. 

Tom, as a new boy, was of right excused fagging for 
the first month, but in his enthusiasm for his new life 
this privilege hardly pleased him ; and East and others | 
of his young friends, discovering this, kindly allowed 
him to indulge his fancy, and take their turns at night 
fagging and cleaning studies. These were the principal 
duties of the fags in the house. From supper until nine 
o’clock, three fags taken in order stood in the passages, 
and answered any preepostor who called Fag, racing to 
the door, the last comer having to do the work. This 
consisted generally of going to the buttery for beer and 
bread and cheese (for the great men did not sup with the 
rest, but had each his own allowance in his study of the 
fifth-form room), cleaning candlesticks and putting in 
new candles, toasting cheese, bottling beer, and carrying 
messages about the house; and Tom, in the first blush 
of his hero-worship, felt it a high privilege to receive 


' 


TOM BROWN’'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 169 


orders from, and be the bearer of the supper of, old 
Brooke. And besides this night-work, each praepostor 
had three or four fags especially allotted to him, of 
whom he was supposed to be the guide, philosopher and 
friend, and who in return for these good offices had to 
clean out his study every morning by turns, directly 
after first lesson and before he returned from breakfast. 
And the pleasure of seeing the great men’s studies, and 
looking at their pictures, and peeping into ‘their books, 
made Tom a ready substitute for any boy who was _ too 
lazy to do his own work. And so he soon gained the © 
character of a good-natured, willing fellow, who was 
ready to do a turn for anyone. 

In all the games, too, he joined with all his heart, and 
soon became well versed in all the mysteries of foot-ball, 
by continued practice at the school-house little-side, 
which played daily. 

The only incident worth recording here, however, 
was his first run at Hare-and-hounds. On the last Tues- 
day but one of the half-year, he was passing through the 
hall after dinner, when he was hailed with shouts from 
Tadpole and several other fags seated at one of the long 
tables, the chorus of which was, ‘“‘ Comeand help us tear 
up scent.” 

Tom approached the table in obedience to the 
mysterious summons, always ready to help, and found 
the party engaged in tearing up old newspapers, copy- 
books and magazines into small pieces, with which they 


were filling four large canvas bags. 


170 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 

“Tt’s the turn of our house to find scent for big-side 
_ Hare-and-hounds,” exclaimed Tadpole; “tear away: 
there’s no time to lose before calling-over.” 

“T think it’s a great shame,” said another small boy, 
“to have such a hard run for the last day.” 

“Which run is it?” said Tadpole. 

“Oh, the Barby run, I hear,’ answered the other; 
“nine miles at least, and hard ground; no chance of 
getting in at the finish, unless you're a first rate-scud.” 

“Well, ’'m going to have a try,” said Tadpole ; “ it’s . 
the last run of the half, and if a fellow gets in at the end, 
big-side stands ale and bread and cheese, and a bowl of 
punch ; and the ‘ Cock’s’ such a famous place for ale.” 

“T should like to try, too,” said Tom. 

“Well, then, leave your waistcoat behind, and listen 
at the door, after calling-over, and you'll hear where the 
meet is.” 

After calling-over, sure enough, there were two boys 
at the door, calling out, “ Big-side Hare-and-hounds meet 
at White Hall;” and Tom, having girded himself with 
leather strap, and left all superfluous clothing behind, 
set of for White Hall, an old gable-ended house some 
quarter of a mile from the town, with East, whom he had ~ 
persuaded to join, notwithstanding his prophecy that they 
could never get in, as it was the hardest run of the year. 

At the meet they found some forty or fifty boys, and 
Tom felt sure, from having seen many of them run at 
foot-ball, that he and East were more likely to get in 
than they. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 171 


. After a-few minutes’ waiting two well-known run- 
ners, chosen for the hares, buckled on the four bags 
filled with scent, compared their watches with those of 
young Brooke and Thorne, and started off at a long sling- 
ing trot across the fields in the direction of Barby. 
Then the hounds clustered round Thorne, who ex- 
plained shortly, “ They’re to have six minutes law. We 
run into the ‘ Cock,’ and every one who comes in within 
a quarter of an hour of the hares ’ll be counted, if he has - 
been round Barby church.” Then came a minute’s 
pause or so, and then the watches are pocketed, and 
the pack is led through the gateway into the field which 
the hares had first crossed. Here they break into a trot, 
scattering over the field to find the first traces of the 
scent which the hares throw out as they go along. The 
old hounds make straight for the likely points, and ina 
minute a cry of “forward” come’ from one of them, and 
the whole pack quickening their pace make for the spot, 
while the boy who hit the scent first, and the two or 
three nearest to him, are over the first fence, and mak- 
ing play along the hedgerow in the long grass-field-be- 
yond. The rest of the pack rush at the gap already 
made, and scramble through, jostling one another. “ For- 
ward” again, before they are half through ; the pace 
quickens into a sharp run, the tail hounds all straining 
to get up with the lucky leaders. They are gallant 
hares, and the scent lies thick right across another 
meadow and into a ploughed field, where the pace be- 
gins to tell; then over a good wattle with a ditch on the 


Yd 


in2 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


other side, and down a large pasture studded with old 
thorns, which slopes down to the first brook ; the great 
Leicestershire sheep charge away across the field as the 
pack comes racing down the slope. ~The brook is a 
small one, and the scent lies right ahead up the opposite 
slope, and as thick as ever; not a turn or a check to 
favor the tail hounds, who strain on, now trailing in a 
long line, many a youngster beginning to drag his legs 
heavily, and feel his heart beat like a hammer, and the 
bad plucked ones thinking that after all it isn’t worth 
while to keep it up. 

Tom, East, and the Tadpole had a good start, and are 
well up for such young hands, and after rising the slope 
and crossing the next field, find themselves up with the 
leading hounds, who have overrun the scent and are try- 
ing back ; they have come a mile and a half in about 
eleven minutes, a pace ‘which shows that it is the last day. 
About twenty-five of the original starters only show 
here, the rest having already given in; the leaders are 
busy making casts into the fields on the left and right, 
and the others get their second winds. 

Then comes the cry of “forward” again, from young 
Brooke, from the extreme left, and the pack settles down 
to work again steadily and doggedly, the whole keeping 
pretty well together, The scent, though still good, is 
not so thick; there is no need of that, for in this part 
of the run everyone knows the line which must be 
taken, and so there are no casts to be made, but good 
downright running and fencing to be done. All who 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 173 


are now up mean coming in, and they come to the foot 
of Barby Hill without losing more than two or three 
more of the pack. -This last straight two miles and a 
half is always a vantage ground for the hounds, and the 
hares know it well ; they are generally viewed on the 
side of Barby Hill, and all eyes are on the look-out for 
them to-day. But not a sign of them appears, so now 
will be the hard work for the hounds, and there is noth- 
ing for it but to cast about for the scent, for it is now 
the hares’ turn and they may baffle the pack dreadfully 
in the next two miles. 

Ill fares it now with our youngsters that they are 
school-house boys, and so follow young Brooke, for he 
takes the wide casts round to the left, conscious of his 
own powers, and loving the hard work. For if you would 
consider for a moment, you small boys, you would re- 
member that the “ Cock,” where the road ends, and the 
good ale will be going, lies far out to the right on the 
Dunchurch road, so that every cast you take to the left 
is so much extra work. And at this stage of the run, 
when the evening is closing in already, no one remarks 
whether you run a little cunning or not, so you should 
stick to those crafty hounds who keep edging away to 
the right, and not follow a prodigal like young Brooke, 
whose legs are twice as long as yours, and of cast-iron, 
wholly indifferent to two or three miles more or less. 
However, they struggle after him, sobbing and plunging 
along, Tom and East pretty close, and Tadpole, whose big 

* head begins to pull him down, some thirty yards behind, 


174 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


Now comesa brook, with stiff clay banks, from which 
they can hardly drag their legs, and they hear faint cries 
for help from the wretched Tadpole, who has fairly stuck 
fast. But they have too little run left in themselves to 
pull up for their own brothers. Three fields more, and 
another check, and then ‘“ forward” called away to the 
extreme right. 

The two boys’ souls die within them ; they can never 
doit. Young Brooke thinks so too, and says kindly, 
“You'll cross a lane after next field; keep down it, and 
youll hit the Dunchurch road below the ‘ Cock,’ ” and 
then steams away for the run in, in which he’s sure to 
be first, as if he were just starting. They struggle on 
across the next field, the “forwards ” getting fainter and 
fainter, and then ceasing. The whole hunt is out of 
ear-shot, and all hope of coming in is over. 

“ Hang it all!’’ broke out East, as soon as he had 
got wind enough, pulling off his hat and mopping at his 
face, all spattered with dirt and lined with sweat, from 
which went up a thick steam into the still cold air. “I 
told you how it would be. Whatathick I was to come! 
Here we are dead beat, and yet I know we're close to 
the run in, if we knew the country.” 

“ Well,” said Tom, mopping away, and gulping down 
his disappointment, “it can’t be helped. We did our 
best anyhow. Hadn’t we better find this lane, and go 
down it, as young Brooke told us?” 

“T suppose so-—-nothing else for it,” grunted East, 
“Tf ever I go out last day again,” growl—growl—growl. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 175 


So they tried back slowly and sorrowfully, and found 
the lane, and went limping down it, plashing in the cold 
puddly ruts, and beginning to feel how the run had taken 
it out of them. The evening closed in fast, and clouded 
over, dark, cold and dreary. 

“T say, it must be locking-up, I should think,” 
remarked East, breaking the silence; “it’s so dark.” | 

“ What if we’re late ?”’ said Tom. 

“ No tea,and sent up to the Doctor,” answered East. 

The thought didn’t add to their cheerfulness. Pres- 
ently a faint halloo was heard from the adjoining field. 
They answered it and stopped, hoping for some com- 
petent rustic to guide them, when over a gate some 
twenty yards ahead crawled the wretched Tadpole, in a 
state of collapse ; he had lost a shoe in the brook, and 
been groping after it up to his elbows in the stiff wet 
clay, and a more miserable creature in the shape of boy 
has seldom been seen. 

The sight of him, notwithstanding, cheered them, for 
he was some degrees more wretched than they. They 
also cheered him, as he was no longer under the dread 
of passing his night alone in the fields. And so in 
better heart the three plashed painfully down the never- 
ending lane. At last it widened, just as utter darkness 
set in, and they came out on to a turnpike road, and 
there paused bewildered, for they had lost all bearings, 
and knew not whether to turn to the right or left. 

Luckily for them they had not to decide, for lumber- 
ing along the road, with one lamp lighted, and two. 


T 76 1 OM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA +S. 


spavined horses in the shafts, came a heavy coach, 
which after a moment’s suspense they recognized as the 
Oxford coach, the redoubtable Pig and Whistle. 

It lumbered slowly up, and the boys mustered their 
last run, caught it as it passed, and began scrambling up 
behind, in which exploit East missed his footing and fell 
flat on his nose along the road. Then the others hailed 
the old scarecrow of a coachman, who pulled up and 
agreed to take them in for a shilling ; so there they sat 
on the back seat, drubbing with their heels, and their 
teeth chattering with cold, and jogging into Rugby some 
forty minutes after locking-up. 

Five minutes afterwards, three small, limping, shiv- 
ering figures steal along through the Doctor’s garden, 
and into the house by the servants’ entrance (all the 
other gates have been closed long since), where the first 
thing they light upon in the passage is old Thomas, 
ambling along, candle in one hand and keys in the 
other. 

He stops and examines their condition with a grim 
smile. “ Ah! East, Hall, and Brown, late for locking- 
up. Must go up to the Doctor’s study at once.” 

“ Well but, Thomas, mayn’t we go and wash first ? 
You can put down the time, you know.” 

“Doctor's study d’rectly you come in—that’s the 
orders,” replied old Thomas, motioning towards the 
stairs at the end of the passage which led up into the 
Doctor’s house; and the boys turned ruefully down it, 
not cheered by the old verger’s muttered remark, “ What 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 177 


a pickle they boys be in!” Thomas referred to their 
faces and habiliments, but they construed it as indica- 
ting the Doctor’s state of mind. Upon the short flight 
of stairs they paused to hold counsel. 

“ Who'll go in first?” inquires Tadpole. 


) 


“ You—you're the senior,” answered East. 

“ Catch me—look at the state I’m in,” rejoined Hall, 
showing the arms of his jacket. “I must get behind 
you two.” 

“Well, but look at me,” said East, indicating the 
mass of clay behind which he was standing ; “I’m worse 
than you, two to one; you might grow cabbages on my 
trousers.” 

“ That’s all down below, and you can keep your legs 
behind the sofa,” said Hall. 

“ Here, Brown, you’re the show-figure—you must 
lead.” 

“ But my face is all muddy,” argued Tom. 

“ Oh, we're all in one boat for that matter ; but come 
(4, we’re only making it worse, dawdling here.” 

‘s Well, just give us a brush then,” said Tom; and 
they began trying to rub off the superfluous dirt from 
each other’s jackets, but it was not dry enough, and the 
rubbing made it worse; so in despair they pushed 
through the swing door at the head of the stairs, and 
found themselves in the Doctor’s hall. 

“ That’s the library door,” said East, in a whisper, 
pushing Tom forward. The sound of merry voices and 


laughter came from within, and his first hesitating 
ie 


178 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


knock was unanswered. But at the second, the Doctor's 
voice said ‘“‘ Come in, and Tom turned the handle, and 
he, with the others behind him, sidled into the room. 

The Doctor looked up from his task; he was work- 
ing away with a great chisel at the bottom of a boy’s 
sailing boat, the lines of which he was no doubt fashion- 
ing on the model of one of Nicias’ galleys. Round him 
stood three or four children; the candles burnt brightly 
on a large table at the further end, covered with books 
and papers, and a great fire threw a ruddy glow over the 
rest of the room. All looked so kindly, and homely, and 
comfortable, that the boys took heart in a moment, and 
Tom advanced from behind the shelter of the great 
sofa. The Doctor nodded to the children, who went out, 
casting curious and amused glances at the three young 
scarecrows. 

“ Well, my little fellows,’ began the Doctor, draw- 
ing himself up with his back to the fire, the chisel in 
one hand and his coat-tails in the other, and his eyes 
twinkling as he looked them over; “what makes you 
so late?” 

“Please, sir, we've been out big-side Hare-and- 
hounds, and lost our way.” 

“ Hah! you couldn’t keep up, I suppose ?” 

“ Well, sir,” said East, stepping out, and not liking 
that the Doctor should think lightly of his running 
powers, “we got round Barby all right, but then—” 

“ Why, what a state you're in, my boy !” interrupted 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 179 


the Doctor, as the pitiful condition of East’s garments 
was fully revealed to him. 

“ That’s the fall I got, sir, in the road,” said East, 
looking down at himself; “the Old Pig came by--~” 

“ The what ?” said the Doctor. 

“ The Oxford coach, sir,” explained Hall. 

“ Hah! yes, the Regulator,” said the Doctor. 7 

«“ And I tumbled on my face, trying to get up be- 
hind,” went on East. 

“ You're not hurt, I Hones ?” said the Doctor. 

Qhino.sir. 

“ Well now, run up stairs, all three of you, and get 
clean things on, and then: tell the housekeeper to give 
you some tea. You're too young to try such long runs. 
Let Warner know I’ve seen you. Good-night.” 

“ Good-night, sir.’ And away scuttled the three 
boys in high glee. : 

“ What a brick, not to give us even twenty lines to 
learn!” said the Tadpole, as they reached their bed- 
room ; and in half an hour afterwards they were sitting 
by the fire in the housekeeper’s room at a sumptuous 
tea, with cold meat, ‘“ twice as good a grub as we should 
have got in the hall,” as the Tadpole remarked with a 
grin, his mouth full of buttered toast. All their griev- 
ances were forgotten, and they were resolving to go 
out the first big-side next half, and thinking Hare-and- 
hounds the most delightful of games. 

A day or two afterwards the great passage outside 
the bedrooms was cleared of boxes and portmanteaus, 


180 TOM BROWWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


which went down to be packed by the matron, and great 
games of chariot racing, and cock-fighting, and bol- 
stering, went on in the vacant space, the sure sign of a 
closing hait-year. | 

Then came the making up of parties for the journey 
home, and Tom joined a party who were to hire a coach, 
and post with four horses to Oxford. 

Then the last Saturday, on which the Doctor came 
round to each form to give out the prizes, and hear the 
masters’ last reports of how they and their charges had 
been conducting themselves; and Tom, to his huge de- 
light, was praised, and got his remove into the lower 
fourth, in which all his school-house friends were. 

On the next Tuesday morning, at four o'clock, hot 
coffee was going on in the housekeeper’s and matron’s 
rooms ; boys wrapped in great coats and mufflers were 
swallowing hasty mouthfuls, rushing about, tumbling 
over luggage, and asking questions all at once of the 
matron ; outside the school gates were drawn up several 
chaises and the four-horse coach which Tom’s party had 
chartered, the post-boys in their best jackets and breeches, 
and a cornopean player, hired for the occasion, blowing 
away “A southerly wind and a cloudy sky,” waking all 
peaceful inhabitants half-way down the High Street. 

Every minute the bustle and hubbub increased, por- 
ters staggered about with boxes and bags, the cornopean 
played louder. Old Thomas sat in his den with a great 
yellow bag by his side, out of which he was paying jour- 
ney money to each boy, comparing by the light of a soli- 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 18t 


tary dip the dirty crabbed little list in his own handwri- 
ting with the Doctor’s list, and the amount of his cash ; 
his head was on one side, his mouth screwed up, and his 
spectacles dim from early toil. He had prudently locked 
the door, and carried on his operations solely through 
the window, or he would have been driven wild, and lost 
all his money. 

“ Thomas, do be quick, we shall never catch the High- 
flyer at Dunchurch.” 

“That's your money, all right, Green.” 

“ Hullo, Thomas, the Doctor said I was to have two- 
pound-ten ; you have only given me two pound.”—I fear 
that Master Green is not confining himself strictly to 
truth.—Thomas turns his head more on one side than 
ever, and spells away at the dirty list. Green is forced 
away from the window. 

“ Here, Thomas, never mind him, mine’s thirty shil- 
lings.” “And mine too,” “ And mine,” shouted others. 

One way or another, the party to which Tom be- 
longed all got packed and paid, and sallied out to the 
gates, the cornopean playing frantically “Drops of 
Brandy,” in allusion, probably, to the slight potations in 
which the musicians and post-boys had been already in- 
dulging. All luggage was carefully stowed away inside 
the coach and in the front and hind boots, so that not a 
hat-box was visible outside. Five or six small boys, with 
pea-shooters, and the cornopean player, got up behind ; 
in front the big boys, mostly smoking, not for pleasure, 
but because they are now gentlemen at large—and this 


182 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


is the most correct public method of notifying the 
fact. 

“ Robinson’s coach will be down the road in a min- 
ute; it has gone up to Bird’s to pick up,—we’ll wait till 
they’re close, and make a race of it,” says the leader. 
“ Now, boys, half-a-sovereign apiece if you beat ’em into 
Dunchurch by one hundred yards.” 

“ All right sir,” shouted the grinning post-boys. 

Down comes Robinson’s coach in a minute or two 
with a rival cornopean, and away go the two vehicles, 
horses galloping, boys cheering, horns playing loud. 
There is a special Providence over school-boys as well 
as sailors, or they must have upset twenty times in the 
first five miles ; sometimes actually abreast of one an- 
other, and the boys on the roof exchanging volleys of 
peas, now nearly running over a post-chaise which had 
started before them, now half-way up a bank, now with 
a wheel-and-a-half over a yawning ditch ; and all this ina 
dark morning, with nothing but their own lamps to guide 
them. However, it’s all over at last, and they have run 
over nothing but an old pig in Southam Street; the last 
peas are distributed in the Corn Market at Oxford, where 
they arrive between eleven and twelve, and sit down to 
a sumptnous breakfast at the “ Angel,” which they are 
made to pay for accordingly. Here the party breaks up, 
all going now different ways; and Tom orders out a 
chaise and pair as grand as a lord, tho’ he has scarcely 
five shillings left in his pocket, and more than twenty 
miles to get home. 


LOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 183 


“ Where to, sir?” 

“« Red Lion, Farringdon,” says Tom, giving hostler 
a shilling. 

“All right, sir. ‘Red Lion,’ Jem,” to the post-boy, 
and Tom rattles away towards home. At Farringdon, 
being known to the innkeeper, he gets that worthy to 
pay for the Oxford horses, and forward him in another 
chaise at once; and so the gorgeous young gentleman 
arrives at the paternal mansion, and Squire Brown looks 
rather blue at having to pay two pound ten shillings for 
the posting expenses from Oxford. But the boy’s in- 
tense joy at getting home, and the wonderful health he 
is in, and the good character he brings, and the brave 
stories he tells of Rugby, its doings and delights, soon 
mollify the Squire, and three happier people didn’t sit 
down to dinner that day in England (it is the boy’s first 
dinner at six o'clock at home, great promotion already) 
than the Squire and his wife, and Tom Brown, at the 
end of his first half year at Rugby. 


184 TOM BROW SCHOOL-DA YS. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE, 


“ They are slaves who will not choose 
Hatred, scoffing, and abuse, 
Rather than in silence shrink 
From the truth they needs must think : 
They are slaves who dare not be 
In the right with two or three.”” 
LowELi: Stanzas on Freedom. 

Tue lower-fourth form, in which Tom found himself 
at the beginning of the next half year, was the largest 
form in the lower school, and numbered upwards of 
forty boys. Young gentlemen of all ages, from nine to 
fifteen, were to be found there, who expended such 
part of their energies as was devoted to Latin and 
Greek, upon a book of Livy, the Bucolics of Virgil, and 
the Hecuba of Euripides, which were ground out in 
small daily portions. The driving of this unlucky fourth 
must have been grievous work to the unfortunate mas- 
ter, for it was the most unhappily constituted of any in 
the school. Here stuck the great stupid boys, who for 
the life of them could never master the accidence; the 
objects alternately of mirth and terror to the youngsters, 
who were daily taking them up, and laughing at them 
in lesson, and getting kicked by them for so doing in 
play-hours. There were no less than three unhappy 
fellows in tail coats, with incipient down on their chins, 
whom the Doctor and the master of the form were al- 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 185 


ways endeavoring to hoist into the upper school, but 
whose parsing and construing resisted the most well- 
meant shoves. Then came the mass of the form, boys 
of eleven and twelve, the most mischievous and reckless 
age of British youth, of whom East and Tom Brown 
were fair specimens. As full of tricks as monkeys, and 
Of excuses as Irish women, making fun of their master, 
one another, and their lessons, Argus himself would 
have been puzzled to keep an eye on them; and as for 
making them steady or serious for half an hour together, 
it was simply hopeless. The remainder of the form con- 
sisted of young prodigies of nine and ten, who were go- 
ing up the school at the rate of a form a half-year, all 
boys’ hands and wits being against them in their prog- 
ress. It would have been one man’s work to see that 
the precious youngsters had fair play; and as the mas- 
ter had a good deal besides to do, they hadn’t, and were 
forever being shoved down three or four places, their 
verses stolen, their books inked, their jackets whitened, 
and their lives otherwise made a burden to them. 

The lower fourth, and all the forms below it, were 
heard in the great school, and were not trusted to pre- 
pare their lessons before coming in, but were whipped 
into school three-quarters of an hour before the lesson 
began by their respective masters, and there scattered 
about on the benches, with dictionary and grammar, 
hammered out their twenty lines of Virgil and Euripides 
in the midst of Babel. The masters of the lower school 
walked up and down the great school together during 


186 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. ~ 


the three-quarters of an hour, or sat in their desks read- 
ing or looking over copies, and keeping such order as 
was possible. But the lower fourth was just now an 
overgrown form, too large for any one man to attend to 
properly, and consequently the elysium or ideal form of 
the young scapegraces who formed the staple of it. 

Tom, as has been said, had come up from the third 
with a good character, but the temptations of the lower 
fourth soon proved too strong for him, and he rapidly 
fell away, and became as unmanageable as therest. For 
some weeks, indeed, he succeeded in maintaining the 
appearance of steadiness, and was looked upon favorably 
by his new master, whose eyes were first opened by the 
following little incident : 

Besides the desk which the master himself occupied, 
there was another large unoccupied desk in the corner 
of the great school, which was untenanted. To rush 
and seize upon this desk, which was ascended by three 
steps, and held four boys, was the great object of am- 
bition of the lower fourthers; and the contentions for 
the occupation of it bred such disorder, that at last the 
master forbade its use altogether. This of course was 
a challenge to the more adventurous spirits to occupy 
it, and as it was capacious enough for two boys to lie 
hid there completely, it was seldom that it remained 
empty, notwithstanding the veto. Small holes were cut 
in the front, through which the occupants watched the 
masters as they walked up and down, and as lesson time 
approached, one boy at a time stole out and down -the 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 187 


steps, as the masters’ backs were turned, and mingled 
with the general crowd on the forms below. Tom and 
East had successfully occupied the desk some _half- 
dozen times, and were grown so reckless that they were 
in the habit of playing small games with fives’-balls in- 
side, when the masters were at the other end of the 
big school. One day as ill luck would have it, the game 
became more exciting than usual, and the ball slipped 
through East’s fingers and rolled slowly down the steps, 
and out into the middle of the school, just as the masters 
turned in their walk and faced round upon the desk. 
The young delinquents watched their master through 
the look-out holes march slowly down the school straight 
upon ‘their retreat, while all the boys in the neighbor- 
hood of course stopped their work to look on; and not 
only were they ignominiously drawn out, and caned over 
the head then and there, but their characters for steadi- 
ness were gone from that time. However, as they only 
shared the fate of some three-fourths of the rest of the 
form, this did not weigh heavily upon them. 

In fact, the only occasions on which they cared about 
the matter were the monthly examinations, when the 
Doctor came round to examine their form, for one long 
awful hour, in the work which they had done in the pre- 
ceding month. The second monthly examination came 
round soon after Tom’s fall, and it was with anything 
but lively anticipations that he and the other lower- 
fourth boys came into prayers on the morning of the 
examination day. 


188 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


Prayers and calling-over seemed twice as short as 
usual, and before they could get construes of a tithe of 
the hard passages marked in the margin of their books, 
they were all seated round, and the Doctor was standing 
in the middle, talking in whispers to the master. Tom 
couldn’t hear a word which passed, and never lifted his 
eyes from his book ; but he knew by a sort of magnetic 
instinct that the Doctor’s under lip was coming out, and 
his eye beginning to burn, and his gown getting gathered 
up more and more tightly in his left hand. The sus- 
pense was agonizing, and Tom knew that he was sure 
on such occasions to make an example of the school- 
house boys.- “If he would only begin,” thought Tom, 
“T shouldn’t mind.” | 

At last the whispering ceased, and the name which 
was called out was not Brown. He looked up for a mo- 
ment, but the Doctor’s face was too awful ; Tom wouldn’t 
have met his eye for all he was worth, and buried him- 
self in his book again. 

The boy who was called up first was a clever, merry 
school-house boy, one of their set; he was some connec- 
tion of the Doctor’s, and a great favorite, and ran in and 
out of his house as he liked, and so was selected for the 
first victim. 

“ Triste lupus stabulis,’ began the luckless youngster, 
and stammered through some eight or ten lines. 

“ There, that will do,” said the Doctor. ‘“ Now con- 
strue.” 

On common occasions the boy could have construed 


LOM RROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 189 . 


the passage well enough probably, but now his head was 
gone. | 

“ Triste lupus, the sorrowful wolf,” he began. 

A shudder ran through the whole form, and the Doc- 
tor’s wrath fairly boiled over ; he made three steps up 
to the construer, and gave him a good box on the ear. 
The blow was not a hard one, but the boy was so taken 
by surprise that he started back ; the form caught the 
back of his knees, and over he went on the floor behind. 
There was a dead silence over the whole school; never 
before and never again while Tom was at school did the 
doctor strike a boy in lesson. The provocation must 
have been great. However, the victim had saved his 
form for that occasion, for the Doctor turned to the top 
bench, and put on the best boys for the rest of the hour; 
and though at the end of the lesson he gave them all 
such a rating as they did not forget, this terrible field- 
day passed over without any severe visitations in the 
shape of punishments or floggings. Forty young scape- 
graces expressed their thanks to the “ sorrowful wolf” 
in their different ways before second lesson. 

But a character for <:2adiness once gone is not easily 
recovered, as Tom found, and for years afterwards he 
went up the school without it, and the masters’ hands 
were against him, and his against them. And he re- 
garded them, as a matter of course, as his natural en- 
emies. 

Matters were not so comfortable, either, in the house 
as they had been, for old Brooke left at Christmas, and 


190 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


one or two others of the sixth-form boys at the follow- 
ing Easter. Their rule had been rough, but strong and 
just in the main, and a higher standard was beginning 
to be set up; in fact, there had been a short foretaste of 
the good time which followed some years later. Just 
now, however, all threatened to return into darkness and 
chaos again; for the new przpostors were either small 
young boys, whose cleverness had carried them up to 
the top of the school, while in strength of body and 
character, they were not yet fit for a share in the gOv- 
ernment; or else big fellows of the wrong sort, boys 
whose friendships and tastes had a downward tendency, 
who had not caught the meaning of their position and 
work, and felt none of its responsibilities. So under this 
no-government the school-house began to see bad times. 
The big fifth-form boys, who were a sporting and drink- 
ing set, soon began to usurp power, and to fag the little 
boys as if they were przepostors, and to bully and oppress 
any who showed signs of resistance. The bigger sort 
of sixth-form boys just described soon made common 
cause with the fifth, while the smaller sort, hampered by 
their colleague’s desertion to the enemy, could not make 
head against them. So the fags were without their law 
ful masters and protectors, and ridden over rough-shod 
by a set of boys whom they were not bound to obey, and 
whose only right over them stood in their bodily powers ; 
and, as old Brooke had prophesied, the house by degrees 
broke up into small sects and parties, and lost the strong 
feeling of fellowship which he set so much store by, and 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS 1gt 


with it much of the prowess in games, and the lead 
in all school matters, which he had done so much to 
keep up. 

In no place in the world has individual character more 
weight than at a public school. Remember this, I be- 
seech you, all you boys who are getting into the upper 
forms. Now isthe time in all your lives, probably, when 
you may have more wide. influence for good or evil or 
the society you live in than you ever can have again. 
Quit yourselves like men, then; speak up, and strike out 
if necessary for whatsoever is true, and manly, and lovely, 
and of good report; never try to be popular, but only to 
_do your duty and help others to do theirs, and you may 
leave the tone of feeling in the school higher than you 
found it, and so be doing good, which no living soul can 
measure, to generations of your countrymen yet unborn. 
For boys follow one another in herds like sheep, fon 
good or evil; they hate thinking, and have rarely any ° 
settled principles. Every school, indeed, has its own 
traditionary standard of right and wrong, which cannot 
be transgressed with impunity, marking certain things 
as low and blackguard, and certain others as lawful and 
right. This standard is ever varying, though it changes 
only slowly, and little by little ; and subject only to such 
standard, it is the leading boys for the time being who 
give the tone to all the rest, and make the school either 
a noble institution for the training of Christian English- 
men, or a place where a young boy will get more evil 
than he would if he were turned out to make his 


192 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


way in London streets, or anything between these two 
extremes. 

The change for the worse in the school-house, how- 
ever, didn’t press very heavily on our youngsters for 
some time ; they were in a good bedroom, where slept 
the only preepostor left who was able to keep thorough 
order, and their study was in his passage; so, though 
they were fagged more or less, and occasionally kicked 
or cuffed by the bullies, they were on the whole well off ; 
and the fresh brave school life, so full of games, ad- 
ventures, and good fellowship, so ready at forgetting, so 
capacious at enjoying, so bright at forecasting, out- 
weighed a thousandfold their troubles with the master 
of their form, and the occasional ill-usage of the big boys 
in the house. It wasn’t till some year or so after the 
events recorded above that the praepostor of their room 
and passage left. None of the other sixth-form boys 
would move into their passage, and, to the disgust and 
indignation of Tom and East, one morning after break- 
fast they were seized upon by Flashman, and made to 
carry down his books and furniture into the unoccupied 
study which he had taken. From this time they began 
to feel the weight of the tyranny of Flashman and his 
friends, and, now that trouble had come home to their 
own doors, began to look out for sympathizers and part- 
ners amongst the rest of the fags; and meetings of the 
oppressed began to be held, and murmurs to arise, and 
plots to be laid, as to how they should free themselves 
and be avenged on their enemies, 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DPA YS. 193 


While matters were in this state, East and Tom were 
one evening sitting in their study. They had done their 
work for first lesson, and Tom was in a brown study, 
brooding, like a young William Tell, upon the wrongs of 
fags in general, and his own in particular. 

“Tsay, Scud,” said he at last, rousing himself to 
snuff the candle, “ what right have the fifth-form boys to 
fag us as they do?” 

“No more right than you have to fag them,” an- 
swered East, without looking up from an early number of 
Pickwick, which was just coming out, and which he was 
luxuriously devouring, stretched on his back on the sofa. 

Tom relapsed into his brown study, and East went 
on reading and chuckling. The contrast of the boys’ 
faces would have give infinite amusement to a looker-on, 
the one so solemn and big with mighty purpose, the 
other radiant and bubbling over with fun. 

“ Do you know, old fellow, I’ve been thinking it over 
a good deal,’ began Tom again. : 

“ Oh yes, I know, fagging you are thinking of. - Hang 
it all—but listen here. Tom—here’s fun. Mr. Wrinkle’s 
horse—’ 

“ And I’ve made up my mind,” broke in Tom, that I 
won’t fag except for the sixth.” 

“ Quite right, too, my boy,” cried East, putting his 
finger on the place and looking up; “ but a pretty peck 
of troubles you'll get into if youre going to play that 
game. However, I’m all for a strike myself, if we can 


get others to join—it’s getting too bad,” 
I3 


194 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


“ Can’t we get some sixth-form feilow to take it up?” 
asked Tom. 

“ Well, perhaps we might ; Morgan would interfere, 
I think. Only,’ added East, after a moment’s pause, 
“you see we should have to tell him about it, and that’s 
against school principles. Don’t you remember what 
old Brooke said about learning to take our own parts ?” 

“ Ah, I wish old Brooke were back again—it was all 
right in his time.” 

“Why, yes; you see then the strongest and best 
fellows were in the sixth, and the fifth-form fellows were 
afraid of them, and they kept good order ; but now our 
sixth-form fellows are too small, and the fifth don’t care 
for them, and do what they like in the house.” 

“ And so we get a double set of masters,” cried Tom, 
indignantly ; “the lawful ones, who are responsible to 
the Doctor at any rate, and the unlawful—the tyrants, 
who are responsible to nobody.” 

“ Down with the tyrants!” cried East ; “I’m all for 
law and order, and hurrah for a revolution.” 

“T shouldn’t mind if it were only for young Brooke 
new,” said Tom, “he’s such a good-hearted, gentlemanly 
fellow, and ought to be in the sixth—I’d do anything for 
him. But that blackguard Flashman, who never speaks 
to one without a kick or an oath—” 

“The cowardly brute,’ broke in East, “how I hate 
him! And he knows it too,—he knows that you and I 
think him a coward. What a bore that he’s got a study 
in this passage! Don’t you hear them now at supper 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 195 


in his den? Brandy punch going, I'll bet. I wish the 
Doctor would come and catch him. We must change 
our study as soon as we can.” 4 

“ Change or no change, I’ll never fag for him again,” 
said Tom, thumping the table. 

“Fa-a-a-ag!”’ sounded along the passage from Flash- 
man’s study. The two boys looked at one another in 
silence. It had struck nine, so the regular night-fags 
had left duty, and they were the nearest to the supper- 
party. East sat up, and began to look comical, as he 
always did under difficulties. 

“Fa-a-a-ag!’’ again. No answer. 

“Here, Brown! East! you cursed young skulks,” 
roared out Flashman, coming to his open door, “I know 
you're in—no shirking.” 

Tom stole to their door, and drew the bolts as noise- 


lessly as he could ; East blew out the candle. “ Barri- 
cade the first,” whispered he. ‘“ Now, Tom, mind, no 
surrender,” 


“Trust me for that,” said Tom between his teeth. 

In another minute they heard the supper-party turn 
out and come down the passage to the door. They held 
their breaths, and heard whispering, of which they only 
made out Flashman’s words, “I know the young brutes 
are in.” . 3 

Then came summonses to open, which being unan- 
swered, the assault commenced. Luckily, the door was 
a good strong oak one, and resisted the united weight 
of Flashman’s party. A pause followed, and they heard 


196 ZOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


a besieger remark, “They're n safe enough; don’t you 
see how the door holds at top and bottom? so the bolts 
must be drawn. We should have forced the lock long 


9 


ago. East gave Tom a nudge, to call attention to the 
scientific remark. 

Then came attacks on particular panels, one of which at 
last gave way to the repeated kicks ; but it broke inwards, 
and the broken piece got jammed across, the door being 
lined with green baize, and couldn’t easily be removed 
from outside ; and the besieged, scorning further con- 
cealment, strengthened their defences by pressing the 
end of their sofa against the door. So, after one or two 
more ineffectual efforts, Flashman & Co. retired, vowing 
vengeance in no mild terms. 

The first danger over, it only remained for the be- . 
sieged to affect a safe retreat, as it was now near bed- 
time. They listened intently, and heard the supper party 
re-settle themselves, and then gently drew back first one 
bolt and then the other. Presently the convivial noises 
began again steadily. ‘ Now, then, stand by for a run,” 
said East, throwing the door wide open and rushing into 
the passage, closely followed by Tom. They were too 
quick to be caught, but Flashman was on the look-out, 
and sent an empty pickle-jar whizzing after them, which 
narrowly missed Tom’s head, and broke into twenty 
pieces at the end of the passage. “He wouldn’t mind ° 
killing one, if he wasn’t caught,” said East, as they 
turned the corner. 

There was no pursuit, so they turned into the hall, 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 197 


where they found a knot of small boys round the fire. 
Their story was told. The war of independence had broken 
out—who would join the revolutionary forces? Several 
others present bound themselves not to fag for the fifth 
form at once. One or two only edged off, and left the 
rebels. What else could they do? “I’ve a good mind 
to go to the Doctor straight,” said Tom. 

“That'll never do ; don’t you remember the levy of 
the school last half ?” put in another. 

In fact, that solemn assembly, a levy of the school, 
_ had been held, at which the captain of the school had 
got up, and, after premising that several instances had 
occurred of matters having been reported to the masters, 
that this was against public morality and school tradition ; 
that a levy of the sixth had been held on the subject, 
and they had resolved that the practice must be stopped 
at once, had given out that any boy, in whatever form, 
who should thenceferth appeal to a master, without hav- 
ing first gone to some prezpostor and laid the case before 
him, should be thrashed publicly, and sent to Coventry. 

“Well, then, let’s try the sixth. Try Morgan,” sug- 
gested another. “No use’”’—“ Blabbing won't do,” was 
the general feeling. 

“T’'ll give you fellows a piece of advice,” said a voice 
from the end of the hall. They all turned round with a 
start, and the speaker got up from a bench on which he 
had been lying unobserved, and gave himself a shake; 
he was a big loose-made fellow, with huge limbs, which 
had grown too far through his jacket and _ trousers, 


198 TOM BROW. ’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


“Don’t you go to anybody at all—you just stand out; 
say you won't fag—they’ll soon get tired of licking you. 
I’ve tried it on years ago with their forerunners.” 

“No! did you? tell us how it was,’ cried a chorus 
of voices, as they clustered round him. 

“Well, just as itis with you. The fifth form would 
fag us, and I and some more struck, and we beat ’em. 
The good fellows left off directly, and the bullies who 
kept on soon got afraid.” 

“Was Flashman here then ?” 

“Yes! and a dirty little snivelling, sneaking fellow 
he was, too. He never dared join us, and used to toady 
the bullies by offering to fag for them, and peaching 
against the rest of us.” 

“Why wasn’t he cut then?” said East. 

“ Oh, toadies never get cut—they’re too useful. Be- 
sides he has no: end of great hampers from home, with 
wine and game in them; so he toadied and fed himself 
into favor.” : 

The quarter-to-ten bell now rang, and the small boys 
went off up stairs, still consulting together, and praising 
their new counsellor, who stretched himself out on the 
bench before the hall fire again. There he lay, a very 
queer specimen of boyhood, by name Diggs, and famil- 
- jarly called “ The Mucker.” He was young for his size, 
and a very clever fellow, nearly at the top of the fifth. 
His friends at home, having regard, I suppose, to his 
age, and not to his size and place in the school, hadn’t 
put him into tails ; and even his jackets were always too 


TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DA VS. 199 
small, and he had a talent for destroying clothes, and 
making himself look shabby. He wasn’t on terms with 
Flashman’s set, who sneered at his dress and ways be- 
hind his back, which he knew, and revenged himself by 
asking Flashman the most disagreeable questions, and 
treating him familiarly whenever a crowd of boys were 
‘round him. Neither was he intimate with any of the 
other bigger boys, who were warned off by his oddnesses, 
for he was a very queer fellow; besides, amongst other 
failings, he had that of impecuniosity in a remarkable 
degree. He brought as much money as other boys to 
school, but got rid of it in no time, no one knew how. 
And then, being also reckless, he borrowed from any 
one, and when his debts accumulated and creditors 
pressed, would have an auction in the hall of everything 
he possessed in the world, selling even his school-books, 
candlestick, and study table. For weeks after one of 
these auctions, having rendered his study uninhabitable, 
he would live about in the fifth form room and hall, doing 
his verses on old letter-backs and odd scraps of paper, 
and learning his lessons no one knew how. He never 
meddied with any little boy, and was popular with them, 
though they all looked on him with a sort of compassion, 
and called him “poor Diggs,” not being able to resist 
appearances, or to disregard wholly even the sneers of 
their enemy Flashman. However, he seemed equally 
indifferent to the sneers of big boys and the pity of 
small ones, and lived his own queer life with much 
apparent enjoyment to himself. It is necessary to in- 


~ 


200 | TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


troduce Diggs thus particularly, as he not only did Tom 
and East good service in their present warfare, as is 
about to be told, but soon afterwards, when he got into 
the sixth, chose them for his fags, and excused them 
from study-fagging, thereby earning unto himself eternal 
gratitude from them, and all who are interested in their . 
history. 

And seldom had small boys more need of a friend, 
for the morning after the siege the storm burst upon the 
rebels in all its violence. Flashman laid wait, and 
caught Tom before second lesson, and receiving a point 
blank “ No,” when told to fetch his hat, seized him and 
twisted his arm, and went through the other methods of 
torture in use. “He couldn’t make me cry tho’,” as 
Tom said triumphantly to the rest of the rebels, “and 
I kicked his shins well, I know.” And soon it crept 
out that a lot of the fags were in league, and Flash- 
man excited his associates to join him in bringing the 
young vagabonds to their senses; and the house was 
filled with constant chasings, and sieges, and lickings 
of all sorts; and in return, the bullies’ beds were 
pulled to pieces, and drenched with water, and their 
names written upon the walls with every insulting epi- 
thet which the fag invention could furnish. The war 
in short raged fiercely; but soon as Diggs had told 
them, all the better fellows in the fifth gave up trying 
to fag them, and public feeling began to set against 
Flashman and his two or three intimates, and they 
were obliged to keep their doings more secret, but 


LOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 26T 


being thorough bad fellows, missed no opportunity of 
torturing in private. Flashman was an adept in all 
ways, but above all in the power of saying cutting and 
cruel things, and could often bring tears to the eyes of 
boys in this way, which all the thrashings in the world 
wouldn’t have wrung from them. 

And as his operations were being cut short in other 
directions, he now devoted himself chiefly to Tom and 
East, who lived at his own door, and would force him- 
self into their study whenever he found a chance, and 
sit there, sometimes alone, sometimes with a companion, 
interrupting all their work, and exulting in the evident 
pain which every now and then he could see he was in- 
inflicting on one or the other. 

The storm had cleared the air for the rest of the 
house, and a better state of things now began than there 
had been since old Brooke had left ; but an angry dark 
spot of thunder cloud still hung over the end of the 
passage where Flashman’s study and that of East and 
Tom lay. 3 ; 

He felt that they had been the first rebels, and that 
the rebellion had been to a great extent successful ; but 
what above all stirred the hatred and bitterness of his 
heart against them, was that in the frequent collisions 
which there had been of late, they had openly called him 
coward and sneak—the taunts were too true to be for- 
given. While he was in the act of thrashing them, they 
would roar out instances of his funking at foot-ball, or 
shirking some encounter with a lout of half his own size, 


402 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA VS. 


These things were all well enough known in the house, 
but to have his disgrace shouted out by small boys, to 
feel that they despised him, to be unable to silence them 
by any amount of torture, and to see the open laugh and 
sneer of his own associates (who were looking on, and 
took no trouble to hide their scorn from him, though 
they neither interfered with his bullying nor lived a bit 
the less intimately with him), made him beside himself. 
Come what might, he would make those boys’ lives miser- 
able. So the strife settled down into a personal affair 
between Flashman and our youngsters—a war to the 
knife, to be fought out in the little cockpit at the end of 
the bottom passage. 

Flashman, be it said, was about seventeen years old, 
and big and strong of his age. He played well at all 
games where pluck wasn’t much wanted, and managed 
generally to keep up appearances where it was; and 
having a bluff off-hand manner, which passed for hearti- 
ness, and considerable powers of being pleasant when he 
liked, went down with the school in general for a gooa 
fellow enough. Even in the school-house, by dint of his 
command of money, the constant supply of good things 
which he kept up, and his adroit toadyism, he had 
managed to make himself not only tolerated but rather 
popular amongst his own contemporaries, although young 
Brooke scarcely spoke to him, and one or two others of 
the right sort showed their opinions of him whenever a 
chance offered. But the wrong sort happened to be in 
the ascendant just now, and so Flashman was a formid- 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 203 


able enemy for small boys. This soon became plain 
enough. Flashman left no slander unspoken, and no 
deed undone, which could in any way hurt his victims, 
or isolate them from the rest of the house. One by one 
most of the other rebels fell away from them, while 
Flashman’s cause prospered, and several other fifth-form 
boys began to look black at them and ill-treat them 
as they passed about the house. By keeping out of 
bounds, or at all events out of the house and quadrangle, 
all day, and carefully barring themselves in at night, 
East and Tom managed to hold on without feeling very 
miserable ; but it was as much as theycould do. Greatly 
were they drawn then towards old Diggs, who in an 
uncouth way, began to take a good deal of notice of them, 
and once or twice came to their study when Flashman 
was there, who immediately decamped in consequence. 
The boys thought Diggs must have been watching. 
When, therefore, about this time,an auction was one 
night announced to take place in the hall, at which, 
amongst the superfluities of other boys, all Diggs’ Penates 
for the time being were going to the hammer, East and 
Tom laid their heads together, and resolved to devote 
their ready cash (some four shillings sterling) to redeem 
such articles as that sum would cover. Accordingly, 
they duly attended to bid, and Tom became the owner 
of two lots of Diggs’ things ;—lot I, price one-and-three- 
pence, consisting (as the auctioner remarked) of a 
“valuable assortment of old metals,” in the shape of a 
mouse-trap, a cheese-toaster without a handle, and a 


204 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


_ saucepan; lot 2, of a villanous dirty table-cloth and 
green baize curtain ; while East, for one and sixpence, 
purchased a leather paper-case, with a lock but no key, 
once handsome, but now much the worse for wear. But 
they had still the point to settle, of how to get Diggs to 
take the things without hurting his feelings. This they 
solved by leaving them in his study, which was never 
locked when he was out. Diggs, who had attended the 
auction, remembered who had bought the lots, and came 
to their study soon after, and sat silent for some time, | 
cracking his great red finger-joints. Then he laid hold 
of their verses, and began looking over and altering them, 
and at last got up, and turning his back to them, said, 
“ You're uncommon good-hearted little beggars, you two 
—I value that paper-case: my sister gave it me last 
holidays—I won't forget ;” and so tumbled out into the 
passage, leaving them somewhat embarrassed, but not 
sorry that he knew what they had done. 

The next morning was Saturday, the day on which 
the allowances of one shilling a-week were paid, an im- 
portant event to spendthrift youngsters; and great was 
the disgust amongst the small fry to hear that all the 
allowances had been impounded for the Derby lottery. 
That great event in the English year, the Derby, was 
celebrated at Rugby in those days by many lotteries. It 
was not an improving custom, I own, gentle reader, and 
led to making books and betting and other objectionable 
results ; but when our great Houses of Palaver think it 
right to stop the nation’s business on that day, and many 


TOM BROWN’ S SCHOOL-DA YS. 205 


of the members bet heavily themselves, can you blame 
us boys for following the example of our betters ?—at 
any rate we did follow it. First there was the great 
school lottery, where the first prize was six or seven 
pounds ; then each house had one or more separate 
lotteries. These were all nominally voluntary, no bey 
being compelled to put in his shilling who didn’t choose 
to do so; but besides Flashman, there were three or 
four other fast sporting young gentlemen in the school- 
house, who considered subscription a matter of duty and 
necessity, and so, to make their duty come easy to the 
small boys, quietly secured the allowances in a lump 
when given out for distribution, and kept them. It was 
no use grumbling,—so many fewer tartlets and apples 
were eaten and fives’-balls bought on that Saturday ; 
and after locking-up, when the money would otherwise 
have been spent, consolation was carried to many a 
small boy, by the sound of the night-fags shouting along 
the passages, ‘‘Gentlemen sportsmen of the school- 
house, the lottery’s going to be drawn in the hall.” It 
was pleasant to be called a gentleman sportsman, also 
to have a chance of drawing a favorite horse. 

The hall was full of boys, and at the head of one of 
the long tables stood the sporting interest, with a hat 
before them, in which were the tickets folded up. One 
of them then began calling out the list of the house ; 
each boy as his name was called drew a ticket from the 
hat and opened it; and most of the bigger boys, after 
drawing, left the hall directly to go back to their studies 


206 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS.: 


or the fifth-form room. The sporting interest had all 
drawn blanks, and they were sulky accordingly ; neither 
of the favorites had yet been drawn, and it had come 
down to the upper fourth. So now, as each small boy 
came up and drew his ticket, it was seized and opened 
by Flashman, or some other of the standers-by. But no 
great favorite is drawn until it comes to the Tadpole’s 
turn, and he shuffles up and draws, and tries to make 
off, but is caught, and his ticket is opened like the 
rest. : 

“How you are! Wanderer! the third favorite,” 
shouts the opener, 

“T say, just give me my ticket, please,’ remonstrates 
Tadpole. 

“ Hullo, don’t be in a hurry,” breaks in Flashman ; 
“what'll you sell Wanderer for, now?” 

“TI don’t want to sell,” rejoined Tadpole. 

“O, don’t you! Now listen, you young fool—you 
don't know anything about it ; the horse is no use to 
you. He won’t win, but I want him as a hedge. Now 
I'll give you half-a-crown for him,” Tadpole holds out, 
but between threats and cajoleries at length sells half 
for one-shilling-and-sixpence, about a fifth of its fair 
market value ; however, he is glad to realize anything, 
and as he wisely remarks, “ Wanderer mayn’t win, and 
the tizzy is safe anyhow.” 

_ East presently comes up and draws a blank. Soon 
after comes Tom’s turn; his ticket, like the others, is 
seized and opened. “ Here you are, then,” shouts the 


- JOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 207 


opener, holding it up; “ Harkaway! By Jove, Flashy, 
your young friend’s in luck.” 

“Give me the ticket,” said Flashman with an oath, 
leaning across the table with open hand, and his face 
black with rage. 

“Would’nt you like it?” replies the opener, nota 
bad fellow at the bottom, and no admirer of Flashman’s. 
“ Here, Brown, catch hold,” and he hands the ticket to 
Tom, who pockets it; whereupon Flashman makes for 
the door at once, that Tom and the ticket may not 
escape, and there keeps watch until the drawing is over 
and all the boys are gone, except the sporting set of five 
or six, who stay to compare books, make bets, and so on, 
Tom, who doesn’t choose to move while Flashman is at 
the door, and East, who stays by his friend, anticipating 
trouble. 

The sporting set now gather round Tom. Public 
opinion wouldn’t allow them actually to rob him of his 
_ ticket, but any humbug or intimidation by which he 
could be driven to sell the whole or part at an under 
value was lawful. 

“Now, young Brown, come, what'll you sell me 
Harkaway for? I hear he isn’t going to start. I'll give 
you five shillings for him,” begins the boy who had 
opened the ticket. Tom, remembering his good deed, 
and moreover in his forlorn state wishing to make a 
friend, is about to accept the offer, when another cries 
out, “I'll give you seven shillings.” Tom hesitated 
and looked from one to the other. 


208 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


“No, no!” said Flashman, pushing in, “leave me 
to deal with him; we'll draw lots for it afterwards 
Now, sir, you know me—you'll sell Harkaway to us for 
five shillings, or you'll repent it.” | 

“T won't sell a bit of him,” answered Tom, shortly. 

“You hear that now!” said Flashman, turning to 
the others. “He’s the coxiest young blackguard in the 
house—I always told you so. We're to have all the 
trouble and risk of getting up the lotteries for the ben- 
efit of such fellows as he.” 

Flashman forgets to explain what risk they ran, but 
he speaks to willing ears. Gambling makes boys selfish 
and cruel as well as men. 

“That's true,—we always draw blanks,” cried one. 
“Now, sir, you shall sell half, at any rate.” 

“T won't,’ said Tom, flushing up to his hair, and 
lumping them all in his mind with his sworn enemy. 

ai Very well, then, let’s roast him,” cried Flashman, 
and catches hold of Tom by the collar; one or two 
boys hesitate, but the rest join in. East seizes Tom’s 
arm and tries to pull him away, but is knocked back by 
one of the boys, and Tom is dragged along struggling. 
His shoulders are pushed against the mantelpiece and 
he is held by main force before the fire, Flashman draw- 
ing his trousers tight by way of extra torture. Poor 
East, in more pain even than Tom, suddenly thinks of 
Diggs, and darts off to find him. “Will you sell now 
for ten shillings ?” says one boy who is relenting. 

Tom only answers by groans and struggles. 


TOM BROWWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 209 


“T say, Flashey, he has had enough,” says the same 
boy, dropping the arm he holds. 

“No, no, another turn ’ll do it,’ answers Flashman. 
But poor Tom is done already, turns deadly pale, and his 
nead falls forward on his breast, just as Diggs, in frantic 
excitement, rushes into the hall with East at his heels. 

“You cowardly brutes!” is all he can say, as he 
catches Tom from them and supports him to the hall 
table. “Good God! he’s dying. Here, get some cold 
water—trun for the housekeeper.” 

Flashman and one or two others slink away ; the rest, 
ashamed and sorry, bend over Tom or run for water, 
while East darts off for the housekeeper. Water comes, 
and they throw it on his hands and face, and be begins 
to come to. “Mother!”—the words came feebly and 
slowly—“ it’s very cold to-night.’ Poor old Diggs is 
blubbering like a child. “ Where am I?” goes on Tom, 
opening his eyes. “Ah! I remember now,” and he shut 
his eyes again and groaned. 

“Tsay,” is whispered, “we can’t do any good, and 
the housekeeper will be here in a minute,” and all but 
one steal away ; he stays with Diggs, silent and sorrow- 
ful, and fans Tom’s face. 

The housekeeper comes in with strong salts, and 
Tom soon recovers enough to sit up. There is a smell 
of burning ; she examines his clothes, and looks up in- 
quiringly. The boys are silent. 

“How did he come so?” No answer. 

“ There’s been some bad work here,” she adds, look- 


210 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


ing very serious, “and I shall speak to the Doctor about 
it.” Still no answer. 

“Hadn't we better carry him to the sick-room ?” 
suggests Diggs. 

“ Oh, I can walk now,” says Tom ; and supported by 
East and the housekeeper, goes to the sick-room. The 
boy who held his ground is soon amongst the rest, who 
are all in fear of their lives. “ Did he peach?” “ Does 
she know about it?” 

“ Not a word—he’s a staunch little fellow.” And 
pausing a moment he adds, “ I’m sick of this work: what 
brutes we’ve been!” | » 

Meantime Tom is stretched on the sofa in the house- 
keeper’s room, with East by his side, while she gets wine 
and water and other restoratives. 

“Are you much hurt, dear old boy?” whispers 
East. 

“Only the back of my legs,’ answers Tom. They 
are indeed badly scorched, and part of his trousers burnt 
through. But soon he is in bed with cold bandages. At 
first he feels broken, and thinks of writing home and 
getting taken away; and the verse of a hymn he had 
learned years ago sings through his head, and he goes 
to sleep, murmuring— 

“ Where the wicked cease from troubling, 
And the weary are at rest.” 

But after a sound night’s rest, the old boy-spirit comes 
back again. East comes in reporting that the whole 
house is with him, and he forgets everything except 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 211 


the old resolve, never to be beaten by that bully Flash- 
man. : 

Not a word could the housekeeper extract from 
either of them, and though the Doctor knew all that she 
knew that morning, he never knew any more. 

I trust and believe that such scenes are not possible 
now at school, and that lotteries and betting-books have 
gone out ; but Iam writing of schools as they were in 
our time, and must give the evil with the good. 


212 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


CHa Gaia 1: 


A CHAPTER OF -ACCIDENTS. 


“ Wherein I [speak] of most disastrous chances, 
Of moving accidents by flood and field, 
Of hair-breadth ’scapes.”"-—-SHAKSPEARE. 

WHEN Tom came back into school after a couple of 
days in the sick-room, he found matters much changed 
for the better, as East had led him to expect. Flash- 
man’s brutality had disgusted most even of his intimate 
friends, and his cowardice had once more been made 
plain to the house; for Diggs had encountered him on 
the morning after the lottery, and after high words on 
both sides had struck him, and the blow was not re- 
turned. However, Flashey was not unused to this sort 
of thing, and had lived through as awkward affairs before, 
and, as Diggs had said, fed and toadied himself back into 
favor again. Two or three of the boys who had helped 
to roast Tom came up and begged his pardon, and 
thanked him for not telling anything. Morgan sent for 
~ him, and was inclined to take the matter up warmly, but 
Tom begged him not to do it; to which he agreed, on 
Tom’s promising to come to him at once in future—a 
promise which I regret to say he didn’t keep. Tom 
kept Harkaway all to himself, and won the second prize 
in the lottery, some thirty shillings, which he and East 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 213 


contrived to spend in about three days, in the purchase 
of pictures for their study, two new bats and a cricket- 
ball, all the best that could be got, and a supper of 
sausages, kidneys, and beefsteak pies to all the rebels. 
Light come, light go; they wouldn’t have been comfort- 
able with money in their pockets in the middle of the 
half. 

The embers of Flashman’s wrath, however, were 
still smouldering, and burst out every now and then in 
sly blows and taunts, and they both felt that they hadn’t 
quite done with him yet. It wasn’t long, however, be- 
fore the last act of that drama came, and with it, the end 
of bullying for Tom and East at Rugby. They now 
often stole out into the hall at nights, incited thereto 
partly by the hope of finding Diggs there and having a 
talk with him, partly by the excitement of doing some- 
thing which was against rules ; for, sad to say, both of 
our youngsters, since their loss of character for steadi- 
ness in their form, had got into the habit of doing things 
which were forbidden, as a matter of adventure ; just in 
the same way, I should fancy, as men fall into smuggling, 
and for the same sort of reasons. Thoughtlessness in 
the first place. It never occurred to them to consider 
why such and such rules were laid down ; the reason was 
nothing to them, and they only looked upon rules as a 
sort of challenge from the rule-makers, which it would be 
rather bad pluck in them not to accept ; and then, again, 
in the lower parts of the school they hadn’t enough to 
do. The work of the form they could manage to get 


214 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


through pretty easily, keeping a good enough place to 
get their regular yearly remove; and not having much 
ambition beyond this, their whole superfluous steam was 
available for games and scrapes. Now, one rule of the 
house, which it was a daily pleasure of all such boys to 
break, was that after supper all fags, except the three on 
duty in the passages, should remain in their own studies 
until nine o’clock ; and if caught about the passages or 
hall, or in one another’s studies, they were liable to pun- 
ishments or caning. The rule was stricter than its ob- 
servance, for most of the sixth spent their evenings in 
the fifth-form room, where the library was, and the les- 
sons were learnt in common. Every now and then, 
however, a prazpostor would be seized with a fit of dis- 
trict visiting, and would make a tour of the passages 
and hall, and the fags’ studies. Then, if the owner were 
entertaining a friend or two, the first kick at the door 
and ominous “ Open here,” had the effect of the shadow 
of a hawk over a chicken-yard ; every one cut to cover 
—one small boy diving under the sofa, another under 
the table, while the owner would hastily pull down a 
book or two and open them, and cry out in a meek 
voice, “ Hullo, who’s there?” casting an anxious eye 
round, to see that no protruding leg or elbow could betray 
the hidden boys. “Open, sir, directly ; it’s Snooks.” 
“Oh, I’m very sorry ; I didn’t know it was you, Snooks ;”’ 
and then, with well-feigned zeal, the door would be 
opened, young hopeful praying that the beast. Snooks 
mightn’t have heard the scuffle caused by his coming. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 218 


If a study was empty, Snooks proceeded to draw the - 
passages and hall to find the truants. 

Well, one evening, in forbidden hours, Tom and East 
were in the hall. They occupied the seats before the 
fire nearest the door, while Diggs sprawled as usual be- 
fore the further fire. He was busy with a copy of verses, 
and East and Tom were chatting together in whispers by 
the light of the fire, and splicing a favorite old fives’-bat 
which had sprung. Presently a step came down the 
bottom passage; they listened a moment, assured them- 
selves that it wasn’t a preepostor, and then went on with 
their work, and the door swung open, and in walked 
Flashman. He didn’t see Diggs, and thought it a good 
chance to keep his hand in ; as the boys didn’t move for 
him, he struck one of them, to make them get out of his 
way. ) 

“ What's that for?” growled the assaulted one. 

“ Because I choose. You've no business here; go to 
your study.” 

“You can’t send us.” 

“Cant I? Then Pll thrash you if you stay,” said 
Flashman, savagely. 

“T say, you two,” said Diggs, from the end of the 
hall, rousing up and resting himself on his elbow, “ you'll 
never get rid of that fellow till you lick him. Go in at 
him, both of you—I’ll see fair play.” 

Flashman was taken aback, and retreated two steps. 
East looked at Tom. “Shall we try?” saidhe. “Yes,” 
said Tom, desperately. So the two advanced on Flash- 


216 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


man, with clenched fists and beating hearts. They were 
about up to his shoulder, but tough boys of their age, 
and in perfect training; while he, though strong and 
big, was in poor condition from his monstrous habits of 
stuffing and want of exercise. Coward as he was, how- 
ever, Flashman couldn’t swallow such an insult as this ; 
besides, he was confident of having easy work, and so 
faced the boys, saying, “ You impudent young black- 
guards!’’ Before he could finish his abuse, they rushed 
in on him, and began pummelling at all of him which 
they could reach. He hit out wildly and savagely, but 
the full force of his blows didn’t tell, they were too near 
him. It was long odds, though, in point of strength, 
and in another minute Tom went spinning backwards 
over a form, and Flashman turned to demolish East, 
with a savage grin. But now Diggs jumped down from 
the table on which he had seated himself. “Stop 
there,” shouted he, “the round’s over—half-minute time 
allowed.” 

“What the is it to you?” faltered Flashman, 
who began to lose heart. 

“T’m going to see fair, I tell you,” said Diggs, with 
erin, and snapping his great red fingers; “’tain’t fair 


for you to be fighting one of them atatime. Are you 
ready, Brown? Time’s up.” 

The small boys rushed in again. Closing they saw 
was their best chance, and Flashman was wilder and 
more flurried than ever; he caught East by the throat, 
and tried to force him back on the iron-bound table ; 


7OM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 217 


Tom grasped his waist, and, remembering the old throw 
he had learned in the Vale from Harry Winburn, 
crooked his leg inside Flashman’s, and threw his whole 
weight forward. The three tottered for a moment, and 
then over they went on to the floor, Flashman striking 
his head against a form in the hail. 

The two youngsters sprang to their legs, but he lay 
there still. They began to be frightened. Tom stooped 
down, and then cried out, scared out of his wits, 
“He’s bleeding awfully ; come here, East, Diggs,—he’s 
dying!” 

“ Not he,” said Diggs, getting leisurely off the table; 
“it’s all sham—he’s only afraid to fight it out.” 

East was as frightened as Tom. Diggs lifted Flash- 
man’s head, and he groaned. 

“What's the matter?” shouted Diggs. 

“My skulls fractured,’ sobbed Flashman. 

“Oh, let me run for the housekeeper,” cried Tom. 
“ What shall we do?” ? 

“ Fiddlesticks! it’s nothing but the skin broken,” 
said the relentless Diggs, feeling his head. “Cold water 
and a bit of rag’s all he’ll want.” 

Let me go,” said Flashman, surlily, sitting up; “I 
don’t want your help.” 

“We're really very sorry,” began East. 

“Hang your sorrow,’ answered Flashman, holding 
his handkerchief to the place ; “you shall pay for this, 
I can tell you, both of you.” And he walked out of the 
hall. 


218 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


“ He can’t be very bad,” said Tom with a deep sigh, 
much relieved to see his enemy march so well. 

“Not he,” said Diggs, “and you'll see you won’t be 
troubled with him any more. But, I say, your head’s 
broken too—your collar is covered with blood.” 

“Ts it, though?” said Tom, putting up his hand; 
“T didn’t know it.” 

“Well, mop it up, or you'll have your jacket spoilt. 
And you have got a nasty eye, Scud; you'd better go 
and bathe it well in cold water.” 

“Cheap enough, too, if we've done with our old 


) 


friend Flashey,” said East, as they made off up stairs to 
bathe their wounds. 

They had done with Flashman in one sense, for he 
never laid finger on either of them again ; but whatever, 
harm a spiteful heart and venomous tongue could do 
them, he took care should be done. Only throw dirt 
enough and some of it is sure to stick ; and so it is with” 
the fifth form and the bigger boys in general, with whom 
he associated more or less, and they not at all. Flash- 
man managed to get Tom and East in a disfavor, which 
did not wear off for some time after the author of it had 
disappeared from the school world. This event, much 
prayed for by the small fry in general, took place a few 
months after the above encounter. One fine summer 
evening Flashman had been regaling himself on gin- 
punch, at Brownsover, and having exceeded his usual 
- limits, started home uproarious. He fell in with a 


friend or two coming back from bathing, proposed a 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 210 


glass of beer, to which they assented, the weather being 
hot, and they thirsty souls, and unaware of the quantity 
of drink which Flashman had already on board. The 
short result was that Flashey became beastly drunk. 
They tried to get him along, but couldn’t; so they 
chartered a hurdle and two men to carry him. One of 
the masters came upon them, and they naturally enough 
fled. The flight of the rest raised the master’s suspI- 
cions, and the good angel of the fags incited him to ex- 
amine the freight, and, after examination, to convey the 
hurdle himself up to the school-house ; and the Doctor, 
who had long had his eye on Flashman, arranged for his 
withdrawal next morning. 

The evil that men, and boys too, do lives after them. 
Flashman was gone, but our boys, as hinted above, still 
felt the effects of his hate. Besides, they had been the 
movers of the strike against unlawful fagging. The 
cause was righteous—the result had been triumphant to 
a great extent ; but the best of the fifth, even those who 
had never fagged the small boys, or had given up the 
practice cheerfully, couldn’t help feeling a small grudge 
against the first rebels. After all, their form had been 
defied—on just grounds, no doubt, so just, indeed, that 
they had at once acknowledged the wrong, and had 
remained passive in the strife. Had they sided with 
Flashman and his set, the rebels must have given way 
at once. They couldn't help, on the whole, being glad 
that they had so acted, and that the resistance had been 
successful against such of their own form as had shown 


220 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


fight ; they felt that law and order had gained thereby, 
but the ringleaders they couldn’t quite pardon at once. 
“Confoundedly coxy those young rascals will get, if we 
don’t mind,” was the general feeling. 

So it is, and must be always, my dear boys. If the 
angel Gabriel were to come down from heaven, and head 
a successful rise against the most abominable and un- 
righteous vested interest which this poor oid world 
groans under, he would most certainly lose his character 
for many years, probably for centuries, not only with 
upholders of said vested interest, but with the respect- 
able mass of the people whom he had delivered. They 
wouldn't ask him to dinner, or let their names appear 
with his in the papers ; they would be very careful how 
they spoke of him in the Palaver, or at their clubs. 
What can we expect, then, when we have only poor 
gallant, blundering men like Kossuth, Garibaldi, Maz- 
zini, and righteous causes which do not triumph in their 
hands,—men who have holes enough in their armor, 
God knows, easy to be hit by respectabilities sitting in 
their lounging-chairs, and having large balances at their 
bankers’? But you are brave, gallant boys, who hate 
easy-chairs, and have no balances or bankers. You only 
want to have your heads set straight to take the right 
side ; so bear in mind that majorities, especially respect- 
able ones, are nine times out of ten in the wrong ; and 
that if you see a man or boy striving earnestly on the 
weak side, however wrong-headed or blundering he may 
be, you are not to go and join the cry against him. If 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. aot 


you can't join him and help him, and make him wiser, 
at any rate remember that he has found something in 
the world which he will fight and suffer for, which is 
just what you have got to do for yourselves; and so 
think and speak of him tenderly. 

So East and Tom, the Tadpole, and one or two more, 
became a sort of young Ishmaelites, their hands against 
every one and every one’s hand against them. It has 
been already told how they got to war with the masters 
and the fifth form, and with the sixth it was much the 
same. They saw the preposters cowed by or joining with 
the fifth, and shirking their own duties; so they didn’t re- 
spect them, and rendered no willing obedience. It had 
been one thing to clean out studies for sons of heroes like 
old Brooke, but was quite another to do the like for Snooks 
and Green, who had never faced a good scrummage at 
foot-ball,; and couldn’t keep the passages in order at 
night. So they only slurred through their fagging just 
well enough to escape a licking, and not always that, and 
got the character of sulky, unwilling fags. In the fifth- 
form room, after supper, when such matters were often 
discussed and arranged, their names were forever com- 
ing up. 

“T say, Green,” Snooks began one night, “ isn’t that ~ 
new boy, Harrison, your fag ?” 

SCY CSuwily oes 

“Oh, I know something of him at home, and should 
like to excuse him—will you swop?” 

“Who will you giveme?” #¢ | 


222 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


“ Well, let’s see, there’s Willis, Johnson — no, that 
won't do. Yes, I have it—there’s young East, I’ll give 
you him.” 

“Don’t you wish you may get it?” replied Green. 
“T'll tell you what I'll do—I'll give you two for Willis, 
if you like.” 

“Who, then?” asks Snooks. 

“ Hall and Brown.” 

“Wouldn’t have ’em as a gift.” 

“Better than East, though; for they ain’t quite so 
sharp,’ said Green, getting up and leaning his back 
against the mantelpiece—he wasn’t-a bad fellow, and 
couldn’t help not being able to put down the unruly fifth 
form. His eyes twinkled as he went on, “Did I ever 
tell you how the young vagabond sold me last half?” 

“No; how?” 

“Well, he never half cleaned my study out, only just 
stuck the candlesticks in the cupboard, and swept the 
crumbs on to the floor. So at last I was mortal angry, 
and had him up, and made him go through the whol€ 
performance under my eyes: the dust the young scamp 
made nearly choked me, and showed that he hadn’t swept 
the carpet before. Well, when it was all finished, ‘ Now, 
young gentleman,’ says I, ‘ mind, I expect this to be done 
every morning, floor swept, table-cloth taken off and 
shaken, and everything dusted.” ‘ Very well,’ grunts he. 
Not a bit of it though—lI was quite sure in a day or two 
that he never took the table-cloth off even. So Ilaid a 
trap for him, I tor® up some paper, and put half a 


TOM BROWWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 228: 


dozen bits on my table one night, and the cloth over 
them as usual. Next morning, after breakfast, up I 
came, pulled off the cloth, and, sure enough, there was 
the paper, which fluttered down on to the floor. I was 
in a towering rage. ‘I’ve got you now,’ thought I, and 
sent for him, while I got out my cane. Up he came, as 
cool as you please, with his hands in his pockets. 
‘Didn't I tell you to shake my table-cloth every morn- 
ing?’ roared I. ‘Yes,’ says he. ‘Did you do it this 
morning?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘You young liar! I put these pieces 
of paper on the table last night, and if you’d taken the 
table-cloth off you’d seen them, so I’m going to give you 
a good licking.’ Then my youngster takes one hand out 
of his pocket, and just stoops down and picks up two of 
the bits of paper, and holds them out to me. There was 
written on each, in great round text, ‘ Harry East, his 
mark.’ The young rogue had found my trap out, taken 
away my paper, and put some of his there, every bit ear- 
marked. I’dagreat mind to lick him for his impudence, 
but after all one has no right to lay traps, so I didn’t. 
Of course I was at his mercy till the end of the half, and 
in his weeks my study was so frowsy, I couldn’t sit in it.” 

“ They spoil one’s things so, too,” chimed in a third 
boy. “Hall and Brown were night-fags last week. I 
called fag, and gave them my candlesticks to clean ; 
away they went, and didn’t appear again. When they'd 
had time enough to clean them three times over, I went 
out to look after them. They weren’t in the passage, so 
down I went into the hall, where I heard music, and 


224 TOM BROWN’ S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


there I found them sitting on the table, listening to 
Johnson, who was playing on the flute, and my candle- 
sticks stuck between the bars well into the fire, red-hot, 
clean spoiled ; they've never stcod straight since, and I 
must get some more. However, I gave them botha 
good licking—that’s one comfort.” 

Such were the sort of scrapes they were always get- 
ting into; and so, partly by their own faults, partly from 
circumstances, partly from the faults of others, they 
found themselves outlaws, ticket-of-leave men, or what 
you will in that line: in short, dangerous parties, and 
lived the sort of hand-to-mouth, wild, reckless life which 
such parties generally have to put up with. Neverthe- 
less, they never quite lost favor with young Brooke, who 
was now the cock of the house, and just getting into 
the sixth, and Diggs stuck to them like a man, and gave 
them store of good advice, by which they never in the 
feast profited. 

And even after the house mended, and law and order 
had been restored, which soon happened after young 
Brooke and Diggs got into the sixth, they couldn't 
easily or at once return into the paths of steadiness, and 
many of the old wild out-of-bounds habits stuck to them 
as firmly as ever. While they had been quite little boys, 
the scrapes they got into in the school hadn’t much 
mattered to any one; but now they were in the upper 
school, all wrong-doers from which were sent up straight 
to the Doctor at once; so they began to come under his 
notice, and as they were a sort of leaders in a small way 


TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DAYS. 225 


amongst their own contemporaries, his eye, which was 
everywhere, was upon them. 

It was a toss-up whether they turned out well or ill, 
and so they were just the boys who caused most anxiety 
to such a master. You have been told of the first occa- 
sion on which they were sent up to the Doctor, and the 
remembrance of it was so pleasant that they had much 
less fear of him than most boys of their standing had. 
“Tt’s all his look,” Tom used to say to East, “that 
frightens fellows: don’t you remember, he never said 
anything to us my first half-year for being an hour late 
for locking-up ?” 

The next time that Tom came before him, however, 
the interview was of avery different kind. It happened 
just about the time at which we have now arrived, and 
was the first of a series of scrapes into which our hero 
managed now to tumble. 

The river Avon at Rugby is aslow and not very 
clear stream, in which chub, dace, roach, and other 
coarse fish are (or were) plentifully enough, together 
with a fair sprinkling of small jack, but no fish worth 
sixpence either for sport or food. It is, however, a 
capital river for bathing, as it has many nice small pools 
and several good reaches for swimming, all within about 
a mile of one another, and at an easy twenty minutes’ 
walk from the school. This mile of water is rented, or 
used to be rented, for bathing purposes, by the trustees 
of the school, for the boys. The footpath to Brownsover 


_¢rosses the river by “the Planks,” a curious, old single- 
15 


226 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


plank bridge, running for fifty or sixty yards into the 
flat meadows on each side of the river,—for in the 
winter there are frequent floods. Above the Planks 
were the bathing-places for the smaller boys ; Sleath’s, 
the first bathing-place where all new boys had to begin, 
until they had proved to the bathing men (three. steady 
individuals who were paid to attend daily through the 
summer to prevent accidents) that they could swim 
pretty decently, when they were allowed to go on to 
Anstey’s, about one hundred and fifty yards below. 
Here there was a hole about six feet deep and twelve 
feet across, over which the puffing urchins struggled to 
the opposite side, and thought no small beer of them- 
selves for having been out of their depths. Below the 
Planks came larger and deeper holes, the first of which 
was Wratislaw’s, and the last Swift's, a famous hole, 
ten or twelve feet deep in parts, and thirty yards across, 
from which there was a fine swimming reach right down 
to the Mill. Swift’s was reserved for the sixth and fifth 
forms, and had a spring-board and two sets of steps ; 
the others had one set of steps each, and were used 
indifferently by all the lower boys, though each house 
addicted itself more to one hole than to another. The 
school-house at this time affected Wratislaws’s hole, and 
Tom and East, who had learned to swim like fishes, 
were to be found there as regular as the clock through 
the summer, always twice, and often three times a day. 
Now, the boys either had or fancied they had a right 
also to fish at their pleasure over the whole of this part 


~ 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 247 


of the river, and would not understand that the right 
(if any) only extended to the Rugby side. As ill luck 
would have it, the gentleman who owned the opposite 
bank, after allowing it for some time without inter- 
ference, had ordered his keepers not to let the boys fish 
on his side: the consequence of this had been that there 
had been first wranglings and then fights between the 
keepers and boys ; and so keen had the quarrel become, 
that the landlord and his keepers, after a ducking had 
been inflicted on one of the latter, and a fierce fight 
ensued thereon, had been up to the great school at 
calling-over to identify the delinquents, and it was all 
the Doctor himself and five or six masters could do to 
keep the peace. Not even his authority could prevent 
the hissing, and so strong was the feeling, that the four 
przpostors of the week walked up the school with their 
canes, shouting s-s-s-i-lenc-c-c-c-e at the top of their 
voices. However, the chief offenders for the time were 
flogged and kept in bounds, but the victorious party had 
brought a nice hornet’s nest about their ears. The 
landlord was hissed at the school gates as he rode past, 
and when he charged his horse at the mob of boys, and 
tried to thrash them with his whip, he was driven back 
by cricket bats and wickets, and pursued with pebbles 
and fives’-balls ; while the wretched keepers’ lives were 
a burden to them, from having to watch the waters so 
closely. 

The school-house boys of Tom’s standing, one and 
all, as a protest against this tyranny and cutting short 


228 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


of their lawful amusements, took to fishing in all ways, 
and especially by means of night-lines. The little 
tackle-maker at the bottom of the town would soon 
have made his fortune had the rage lasted, and several 
of the barbers began to lay in fishing-tackle. The boys 
had this great advantage over their enemies, that they 
spent a large portion of the day in nature's garb by the 
river side, and so, when tired of swimming, would get 
out on the other side and fish, or set night-lines till the 
keeper hove in sight, and then plunge in and swim back 
and mix with the other bathers, and the keepers were 
too wise to follow across the stream. 

While things were in this state, one day Tom and 
three or four others were bathing at Wratislaw’s, and 
had, as a matter of course, been taking up and re-setting 
night-lines. They had all left the water, and were sit- 
ting or standing about at their toilets, in all costumes 
from a shirt upwards, when they were aware of a man 
in a velveteen shooting-coat approaching from the other 
side. He was a new keeper, so they didn’t recognize or 
notice him till he pulled up right opposite, and began :— 

“T see’d some of you young gentlemen over this side 
a-fishing just now.” 

“ Hullo, who are you? what busiress is that of yours, 
old Velveteens ?” 

“I’m the new under-keeper, and master’s told me 
to keep a sharp look-out on all o’ you young chaps. 
And I tells ’ee I means business, and you'd better keep 
on your own side, or we shall fall out.” 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 229 


“Well, that’s right, Velveteens—speak out, and let’s 
know your mind at once.” 

“ Look here, old boy,” cried East, holding up a mis- 
erable coarse fish or two and a small jack, “ would you 
like to smell ’em and see which bank they lived under ?” 

“T'll give you a bit of advice, keeper,’ shouted Tom, 
who was sitting in his shirt paddling with his feet in the 
_river; “ you'd better go down there to Swift’s where the 
big boys are, they’re beggars at setting lines, and ’il put 
you up to a wrinkle or two for catching the five- 
pounders.” Tom was nearest to the keeper, and that 
officer, who was getting angry at the chaff, fixed his 
eyes on our hero, as if to take a note of him for future 
use. Tom returned his gaze with a steady start, and 
then broke into a laugh, and struck into the middle of a 
favorite school-house song— 


As I and my companions 
Were setting of a snare, 
The gamekeeper was watching us, 
For him we did not care: 
For we can wrestle and fight, my boys, 
And jump out anywhere. 
For its my delight of a likely night, 
' Inthe season of the year. 


The chorus was taken up by the other boys with 
shouts of laughter, and the keeper turned away with a 
grunt, but evidently bent on mischief. The boys 
thought no more of the matter. 

But now came on the may-fly season ; the soft hazy 
summer weather lay sleepily along the rich meadows by 
Avon side, and the green and gray flies flickered with 


230 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. © 


their graceful, lazy, up and down flight over the reeds 
and the water and the meadows, in myriads upon 
myriads. The may-flies must surely be the lotus-eaters 
of the ephemeree—the happiest, laziest, carelessest fly 
that dances and dreams out his few hours of sunshiny 
life by English rivers. 

Every little pitiful coarse fish in the Avon was on 
the alert for the flies, and gorging his wretched carcase 
with hundreds daily, the gluttonous rogues! and every 
lover of the gentle craft was out to avenge the poor 
may-flies. : 

So one fine Thursday afternoon, Tom having bor- 
rowed East’s new rod, started by himself to the river. 
He fished for some time with small success, not a fish 
would rise at him ; but, as he prowled along the bank, 
he was presently aware of mighty ones feeding in a pool 
on the opposite side, under the shade of a huge willow- 
tree. The stream was deep here, but some fifty yards 
below was a shallow, for which he made off hot-foot ; 
and forgetting landlords, keepers, solemn prohibitions of 
the Doctor, and everything else, pulled up his trousers, 
plunged across, and in three minutes was creeping along 
on all fours towards the clump of willows. 

It isn’t often that great chub or any other coarse fish 
are in earnest about anything, but just then they were 
thoroughly bent on feeding, and in half an hour Master 
Tom had deposited three thumping fellows at the foot 
of the giant willow. As he was baiting for a fourth 
pounder, and just going to throw in again, he became 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 231 


aware Of aman coming up the bank not one hundred 
yards off. Another look told him that it was the under- 
keeper. Could he reach the shallow before him? No, 
not carrying his rod. Nothing for it but the tree, so 
Tom laid his bones to it, shinning up as fast as he could. 
and dragging up his rod after him. He had just time 
to reach and crouch along upon a huge branch some ten 
feet up, which stretched out over the river, when the 
keeper arrived at the clump. Tom’s heart beat fast as 
he came under the tree; two steps more and he would 
have passed, when, as ill-luck would have it, the gleam 
on the scales of the dead fish caught his eye, and he 
made a dead point at the foot of the tree. He picked 
up the fish one by one; his eye and touch told him that 
they had been alive and feeding within the hour. Tom 
crouched lower along the branch, and heard the 
keeper beating the clump. “If I could only get the rod 
hidden,” thought he, and began gently shifting it to get 
it alongside him ; “ willow trees don’t throw out straight 
hickory shoots twelve feet long, with no leaves, worse 
luck.” Alas! the keeper catches the rustle, and then a 
sight of the rod, and then of Tom’s hand and arm. 

‘“Oh, be up thur, be ’ee?”’ says he, running under 
the tree. ‘ Now you come down this minute.” 

“ Treed at last,” thinks Tom, making no answer, and 
keeping as close as possible, but working away at the 
rod, which he takes to pieces: “I’m in for it, unless I 
can starve him out.”’ And then he begins to meditate 
getting along the branch for a plunge, and scramble to 


232 7OM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


the other side; but the small branches are so thick, and 
the opposite bank so difficult, that the keeper will have 
lots of time to get round by the ford before he can get 
out, so he gives that up. And now he hears the keeper 
beginning to scramble up the trunk. That will never — 
do; so he scrambles himself back to where his branch 
joins the trunk, and stands with lifted rod. 

“Hullo, Velveteens, mind your fingers if you come 
any higher.” 

The keeper stops and looks up, and then with a grin 
says, “Oh! be you, be it, young measter? Well, here’s 
luck. Now I tells ’ee to come down at once, and ’t’ll 
be best for ’ee.” 1 

“ Thank ’ee, Velveteens, I’m very comfortable,” said 
Tom, shortening the rod in his hand, and preparing for 
battle. 

“Werry well, please yourself,” says the keeper, 
descending however to the ground again, and taking his 
seat on the bank; “I bean’t in no hurry, so you med 
take your time. I'll larn’’ee to gee honest folk names 
afore I’ve done with ’ee.”. 

“My luck as usual,” thinks Tom; “what a fool I 
was to give him a black. If I’d called him ‘keeper,’ 
now, I might get off. The return match is all his way.” 

The keeper quietly proceeded to take out his pipe, 
fill and light it, keeping an eye on Tom, who now sat 
disconsolately across the branch, looking at the keeper— 
a pitiful sight for men and fishes. The more he thought 
of it the less he liked it. “It must be getting near 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 233 


second calling-over,” thinks he. Keeper smokes on 
stolidly. “If he takes me up, I shall be flogged safe 
enough. I can’t sit here all night. Wonder if he'll rise 
at silver.” 

“T say, keeper,” said he meekly, “let me go for two 
bob ?” 

“Not for twenty neither,” grunts his persecutor. 

And so they’sat on till long past second calling-over, 
and telling of locking-up near at hand. 

“T’m coming down, keeper,” said Tom at last, witha 
sigh, fairly tired out. “ Now what are you going to do?” 

“Walk ’ee up to school, and give ’ee over to the 
Doctor ; them’s my orders,” says Velveteens, knocking 
the ashes out of his fourth pipe, and standing up and 
shaking himself. 

“Very good,” said Tom ; “but hands off, you know. 
I’ll go with you quietly, so no collaring, or that sort of 
thing.” 

Keeper looked at him a minute. “ Werry good,” 
said he at last ; and so Tom descended, and wended his 
way drearily by the side of the keeper up to the school- 
house, where they arrived just it locking-up. As they 
passed the school-gates, the Tadpole, and several others 
who were standing there, caught the state of things, and 
rushed out, crying, “ Rescue!” but Tom shook his head, 
so they only followed to the Doctor’s gate, and went 
back sorely puzzled. 

How changed and stern the Doctor seemed from the 
last time that Tom was up there, as the keeper told the 


234 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA VS. 


story, not omitting to state how Tom had called him 
blackguard names. “Indeed, sir,” broke in the culprit, 
“it was only Velveteens.” The Doctor only asked one 
question. 

“ You know the rule about the banks, Brown ? 

“eS seirs 

“Then wait for me to-morrow, after first lesson.” 

“JT thought so,” muttered Tom. 

“And about the rod, sir?” went on the keeper; 
““Master’s told we as we might have all the rods—” 


7) 


“Oh, please, sir,’ broke in* Tom;)“thesrod isnt 
mine.” The Doctor looked puzzled, but the keeper, 
who was a good-hearted fellow, and melted at Tom’s 
evident distress, gave up his claim. Tom was flogged 
next morning, and a few days afterwards met Velvet- 
eens, and presented him with half-a-crown for giving up 
the rod claim, and they became sworn friends ; and I 
regret to say that Tom had many more fish from under 
the willow that may-fly season, and was never caught 
again by Velveteens. 

It wasn’t three weeks before Tom, and now East by 
his side, were again in the awful presence. This time, 
however, the Doctor was not so terrible. A few days 
before, they had been fagged at fives to fetch the balls 
that went off the court. While standing watching the 
game, they saw five or six nearly new balls hit on the 
top of the school. “I say, Tom,” said East, when they 
were dismissed, “couldn’t we get those balls some- 


how ?” 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 235 


“Let's try, anyhow.” 

So they reconnoitred the walls carefully, borrowed a 
coal hammer from old Stumps, bought some big nails, 
and after one or two attempts, scaled the schools, and 
possessed themselves of huge quantities of fives’-balls. 
The place pleased them so much that they spent all 
their spare time there, scratching and cutting their 
names on the top of every tower; and at last, having 
exhausted all other places, finished up with inscribing 
H. East, T. Brown, on the minute-hand of the great 
clock, in the doing of which they held the minute-hand, 
and disturbed the clock’s economy. ‘So next morning, 
when master and boys came trooping down to prayers, 
and entered the quadrangle, the injured minute-hand 
Was indicating three minutes to the hour. They all 
pulled up, and took their time. When the hour struck, 
doors were closed, and half the school late. Thomas 
being set to make inquiry, discovers their names on 
the minute-hand, and reports accordingly; and they are 
sent for, a knot of their friends making derisive and 
pantomimic allusions to what their fate would be, as 
they walk off. 

But the Doctor, after hearing their story, doesn’t 
make much of it, and only gives them thirty lines of 
Homer to learn by heart, and a lecture on the likelihood 
of such exploits ending in broken bones. 

Alas ! almost the next day was one of the great fairs 
in the town; and as several rows and other disagreeable 


accidents had of late taken place on these occasions, the 


236 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


Doctor gives out, after prayers in the morning, that no 
boy is to go down into the town. Wherefore East and 
Tom, for no earthly pleasure except that of doing what 
they were told not to do, start away, after second lesson, 
and making a short circuit through the fields, strike a 
back lane which leads into the town, go down it, and 
run plump upon one of the masters as they emerge into 
the High Street. The master in question, though a 
very clever, is not a righteous man: he has already 
caught several of his own pupils, and gives them lines to 
learn, while he sends East and Tom, who are not his 
pupils, up to the Doctor, who, on learning that they had 
been at prayers in the morning, flogs them soundly. 
The flogging did them no good at the time, for the 
injustice of their captor was rankling in their minds; 
but it was just the end of the half, and on the next 
evening but one Thomas knocks at their door, and says 
the Doctor wants to see them. They look at one 
another in silent dismay. What can it be now? Which 
of their countless wrong-doings can he have heard of 
officially ? However, it’s no use delaying, so up they go 
to the study. There they find the Doctor, not angry, 
but very grave. “He has sent for them to speak very 
seriously before they go home. They have each been 
flogged several times in the half-year for direct and wil- 
ful breaches of rules. This cannot go on. They are 
doing no good to themselves or others, and now they 
are getting up in the school, and have influence. They 
seem to think that rules are made capriciously, and for 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 237 


the pleasure of the masters; but this is not so—they are 
for the good of the whole schoo], and must and shall be 
obeyed. Those who thoughtlessly or wilfully break 
them will not be allowed to stay at the school. He 
should be sorry if they had to leave, as the school might 
do them both much good, and wishes them to think very 
seriously in the holidays over what he has said. Good 
night.” . 

And so the two hurry off horribly scared: the idea 
of having to leave has never crossed their minds, and is 
quite unbearable. | 

As they go out, they meet at the door old Holmes, 
a sturdy, cheery preepostor of another house, who goes 
in to the Doctor; and they hear his genial hearty greet- 
ing of the new comer, so different from their own recep- 
tion, as the door closes, and return to their study with 
heavy hearts, and tremendous resolves to break no more 
rules. 

Five minutes afterwards the master of their form, a 
late arrival and a model young master, knocks at the 
Doctor's study door. “Come in!” and as he enters, 
the Doctor goes on to Holmes—“ you see I do not know 
anything of the case officially, and if I take any notice 
of it at all, I must publicly expel the boy. I don’t wish 
to do that, for I think there is some good in him. 
There’s nothing for it but a good sound thrashing.” 
He paused to shake hands with the master, which 
Holmes does also, and then prepares to leave. 

“T understand. .Good night, sir,” 


238 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


“Good night, Holmes. And remember,” added the 
Doctor, emphasizing the words, “a good sound thrash- 
ing before the whole house.” 

The door closed on Holmes; and the Doctor, in 
answer to the puzzled look of his lieutenant, explained 
shortly. “A gross case of bullying. Wharton, the 
head of the house, is a very good fellow, but slight and 
weak, and severe physical pain is the only way to deal 
with such a case; so I have asked Holmes to take it up. 
He is very careful and trustworthy, and has plenty of 
strength. I wish all the sixth had as much. We must 
have it here, if we are to keep order at all.” 

Now I don’t want any wiseacres to read this book ; 
but if they should, of course they will prick up their long 
ears, and howl, or rather bray, at the above story. Very 
good, I don’t object; but what I have to add for you 
boys is this, that Holmes called a levy of his house after 
breakfast next morning, made them a speech on the 
case of bullying in question, and then gave the bully a 


” 


“good sound thrashing ; and that years afterwards, 
that boy sought out Holmes, and thanked him, saying 
it had been the kindest act which had ever been done 
upon him, and the turning-point in his character; and 
a very good fellow he became, and a credit to his 
school. 

After some other talk between them, the Doctor 
said, “I want to speak to you about two boys in your 
form, East and Brown: I have just been speaking to 
them, What do you think of them ?” 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 239 


“ Well, they are not hard workers, and very thought- 
less and full of spirits; but I can’t help hiking them. I 
think they are sound, good fellows at the bottom.” 

“Tm glad of it. I think so too. But they make me 
very uneasy. They are taking the lead a good deal 
amongst the fags in my house, for they are very active, 
bold fellows. I should be very sorry to lose them, but I 
sha’n’t let them stay if I don’t see them gaining char- 
acter and manliness. In another year they may do great 
harm to all the younger boys.” 

“Oh, I hope you won’t send them away,” pleaded 
their master. 

“Not if I can help it. But now I never feel sure, 
after any half-holiday, that I sha’n’t have to flog one of 
them next morning, for some foolish, thoughtless scrape. 
I quite dread seeing either of them.” 

They were both silent fora minute. Presently the 
Doctor began again :— 

“They don’t feel that they have any duty or work to 
do in the school, and how is one to make them feel it ?” 

I think if either of them had some little boy to take 
care of, it would steady them. Brown is the most reck- 
less of the two, I should say; East wouldn’t get into so 
many scrapes without him.” 

“ Well,” said the Doctor, with something like a sigh, 
“T'll think of it.” And they went on to talk of other 
subjects, 


- . 
rat Dd 


fete. 


rod 
~ 


ia " 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 
PARES 


“JT hold it truth, with him who sings 
To one clear harp in divers tones, 
That men may rise on stepping-stones 
Of their dead selves to higher things.” 
TENNYSON. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. Ra de 


CHAPTERS 
HOW THE TIDE TURNED. 


*€ Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, 
In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side: 
* * a * * * * 


Then it is the brave man, chooses, while the coward stands aside, 
Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified.” —Lowet. 

Tue turning-point in our hero’s school career had 
now come, and the manner of it was as follows. On the 
evening of the first day of the next half-year, Tom, 
East, and another school-house boy, who had just been 
dropped at the “Spread Eagle” by the old Regulator, 
rushed into the matron’s room in high spirits, such as 
all real boys are in when they first get back, however 
fond they may be of home. 

“Well, Mrs. Wixie,’ shouted one, seizing on the 
methodical, active little dark-eyed woman, who was busy 
stowing away the linen of the boys who had already 
arrived into their several pigeon-holes, “here we are 
again, you see, as jolly as ever. Let us help you put 
the things away.” 

“ And, Mary,” cried another (she was called indiffer- 
ently by either name), “who’s come back? Has the 
Doctor made old Jones leave? How many new boys 
are there?” 


244 LOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


“Am I and East to have Gray’s study? You know 
you promised to get it for us if you could,” shouted 
Tom. | 

“ And am I to sleep in Number 4?” roared East. 

“ How’s old Sam, and Bogle, and Sally?” 

“Bless the boys!” cried Mary, at last getting ina 
word ; “ why, you'll shake me to death. There, now, do 
go away up to the housekeeper’s room and get your 
suppers ; you know I haven’t time to talk—you'll find 
plenty more in the house. Now, Master East, do let 
those things alone—you’re mixing up three new boys’ 
things.” And she rushed at East, who escaped round 
the open trunks, holding up a prize. 

“ Hullo! look here, Tommy,’ shouted he, “here’s 
fun!” and he brandished above his head some pretty 
little night-caps, beautifully made and marked, the work 
of loving fingers in some distant country home. The 
kind mother and sisters who sewed that delicate stitch- 
ing, with aching hearts, little thought of the trouble 
they might be bringing on the young head for which 
they were meant. The little matron was wiser, and 
snatched the caps from East before he could look at the 
the name on them. 

“Now, Master East, I shall be very angry if you 
don’t go,” said she: “there’s some capital cold beef and 
pickles up stairs, and I won’t have you old boys in my 
room first night.” 

“Hurrah for the pickles! Come along, Tommy; 
come along, Smith. We shall find out who the young 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 245 


count is, I'll be bound. I hope he’ll sleep in my room. 
Mary’s always vicious first week.” | 

As the boys turned to leave the room, the matron 
touched Tom’s arm and said, “Master Brown, please 
stop a minute ; I want to speak to you.” 

“Very well, Mary. I'll come in a minute, East ; 
don’t finish the pickles—” 

“Oh, Master Brown,’ went on the little matron, 
when the rest had gone, “you're to have Gray’s study, 
Mrs. Arnold says. And she wants you to take in this 
young gentleman. He’s a new boy, and thirteen years 
old, though he don’t look it. He’s very delicate, and 
has never been from home before. And I told Mrs. 
Arnold I thought you’d be kind to him, and see that 
they don’t bully him at first. He’s put into your form, 
and I’ve given him the bed next to yours in Number 4; 
so East can’t sleep there this half.” 

Tom was rather put about by this speech. He had 
got the double study which he coveted, but here were 
conditions attached which greatly moderated his joy. 
He looked across the room, and in the far corner of the 
sofa was aware of a slight pale boy, with large blue eyes 
and light fair hair, who seemed ready to shrink through 
the floor. He saw ata glance that the little stranger 
was just the boy whose first halfeyear at the public 
school would be misery to himself if he were left alone, 
or constant anxiety to any one who meant to see him 
through his troubles. Tom was too honest to take in 
the youngster and then let him shift for himself ; and if 


246 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


he took him as his chum instead of East, where were all 
his pet plans of having a bottled-beer cellar under his 
window, and making night-lines and slings, and plotting 
expeditions to Brownsover Mills and Caldecott’s Spin- 
ney? East and he had made up their minds to get this 
study, and then every night from locking-up till ten they 
would be together to talk about fishing, drink bottled 
beer, read Marryat’s novels and sort birds’ eggs. And 
this new boy would most likely never go out of the 
close, and would be afraid of wet feet, and always get- 
ting laughed at, and called Molly, or Jenny, or some 
derogatory feminine nickname. 

The matron watched him for a moment, and saw 
what was passing in his mind, and so, like a wise nego- 
tiator, threw in an appeal to his warm heart. “Poor 
little fellow,” said she in almost a-whisper, “his father’s 
dead, and he’s got no brothers. And his mamma, such 
a kind, sweet lady, almost broke her heart at leaving 
him this morning ; and she said one of his sisters was 


” 


like to die of decline, and so 

“Well, well,” burst in Tom, with something like a 
sigh at the effort, “I suppose I must give up East. 
Come along, young ’un. What’s your name? We'll go 
and have some supper, and then I'll show you your 
study.” 

“His name’s George Arthur,” said the matron, walk- 
ing up to him with Tom, who grasped his little delicate 
hand as the proper preliminary to making a chum of 
him, and felt as if he could have blown him away. 


“F 


7 any ee 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 249 
“T’ve had his books and things put into the study, which 
his mamma has had new papered, and the sofa covered, 
and green-baize curtains over the door’’ (the diplomatic 
matron threw this in to show that the new boy was con- 
tributing largely to the partnership comforts). “And 
Mrs. Arnold told me to say,’ she added, “ that she would 
like you both to come up to tea with her. You know 


the way, Master Brown, and the things are just gone up, 
I know.” 


Here was an announcement for Master Tom! He 
was to go up to tea the first night, just as if he were a 
sixth or fifth-form boy, and of importance in the school 
world, instead of the most reckless young scapegrace 
amongst the fags. He felt himself lifted on to a higher 
social and moral platform at once. Nevertheless, he 
couldn’t give up without a sigh the idea of the jolly 
supper in the housekeeper’s room with East and the 
rest, and a rush round to all the studies of his friends 
afterwards, to pour out the deeds and wonders of the 
holidays, to plot fifty plans for the coming half-year, and 
to gather news of who had left, and what new boys had 
come, who had got whose study, and where the new 
preepostors slept. However, Tom consoled himself with 
thinking that he couldn’t have done all this with the 
new boy at his heels, and so marched off along the pas- 
sages to the Doctor’s private house with his young 
charge in tow, in monstrous good humor with himself 
and all the rest of the world. 


It is needless, and would be impertinent, to tell how 


248 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


the two young boys were received in the drawing-room. 
The lady who presided there is still living, and has car- 
ried with her to her peaceful home in the North the re- 
spect and love of all those who ever felt and shared that 
gentle and high-bred hospitality. Aye, and many is the 
brave heart now doing its work and bearing its load in 
country curacies, London chambers, under the Indian 
sun, and in Australian towns and clearings, which looks 
back with fond and grateful memory to that school-house 
drawing-room, and dates much of its highest and best 
training to the lessons learned there. 

Besides Mrs. Arnold and one or two of the elder 
children, there were one of the younger masters, young 
Brooke, who was now in the sixth, and had succeeded to 
his brother’s position and influence, and another sixth- 
form boy there, talking together before ‘the fire. The 
master and young Brooke, now a great strapping fellow 
six feet high, eighteen years old, and powerful as a coal- 
heaver, nodded kindly to Tom, to his intense glory, and 
then went on talking; the other did not notice them. 
The hostess, after a few kind words, which led the boys 
at once and insensibly to feel at their ease, and to begin 
talking to one another, left them with her own children 
while she finished a letter. The young ones got on fast 
and well, Tom holding forth about a prodigious pony he 
had been riding out hunting, and hearing stories of the 
winter glories of the lakes, when tea came in, and im- 
mediately after the Doctor himself. 

How frank, and kind, and manly, was his greeting to 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 249 


the party by the fire! It did Tom’s heart good to see 
him and young Brooke shake hands, and look one an- 
other in the face; and he didn’t fail to remark that 
Brooke was nearly as tall and quite as broad as the Doc- 
tor. And his cup was full when in another moment his 
master turned to him with another warm shake of the 
hand, and, seemingly oblivious of all the late scrapes 
which he had been getting into, said, “ Ah, Brown, you 
here! I hope you left your father and all well at 
home?” 

“ Yes, sir, quite well.” 

“ And this is the little fellow who is to share your 
study. Well, he doesn’t look as we should like to see 
him. Hewants some Rugby air, and cricket. And you 
must take him some good long walks, to Bilton Grange, 
and Caldecott’s Spinny, and show him. what a little 
pretty country we have about here.” 

Tom wondered if the Doctor knew that his visits to 
Bilton Grange was for the purpose of taking rooks’ nests 
(a proceeding strongly discountenanced by the owner 
thereof), and those to Caldecott’s Spinny were prompted 
chiefly by the conveniences for setting night-lines. 
What didn’t the Doctor know? And what a noble use 
he always made of it! He almost resolved to abjure 
rook-pies and night-lines forever. The tea went merrily 
off, the Doctor now talking of holiday doings, and then 
of the prospects of the half-year, what chance there was 
for the Balliol scholarship, whether the eleven would be 
a good one. Everybody was at his ease, and everybody 


260 TOM BROWWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


felt that he, young as he might be, was of some use in 
the little school world, and had a work to do there. 

Soon after tea the Doctor went off to his study, and 
the young boys a few minutes. afterwards took their 
leave, and went out of the private door which led from 
the Doctor’s house into the middle passage. 

At the fire, at the further end of the passage, was a 
crowd of boys in loud talk and laughter. There was a 
sudden pause when the door opened, and then a great 
shout of greeting, as Tom was recognized marching 
down the passage. 

‘“ Hullo, Brown, where do you come from ?” 

“Oh, I’ve been to tea with the Doctor,” says Tom, 
with great dignity. 

“My eye!” cried East. “Oh! so that’s why Mary 
called you back, and you didn’t come to supper. You 
lost something—that beef and pickles was no end good.” 

“Tsay, young fellow,” cried Hall, detecting Arthur, 
and catching him by the collar, “what’s your name? 
Where do you come from? How oid are you?” 

Tom saw Arthur shrink back, and look scared as all 
the group turned to him, but thought it best to let him 
answer, just standing by his side to support him in case 
of need. 

“ Arthur, sir. I come from Devonshire.” 

“Don’t call me ‘sir, you young muff. How old are 
you?” , 

‘“Uhirteen.” 


“Can you sing?” 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. act 


The poor boy was trembling and hesitating. Tom 
struck in—“ You be hanged, Tadpole, He'll have to 
sing, whether he can or not, Saturday twelve weeks, and 
that’s long enough off yet.” 

“Do you know him at home, Brown ?” 

“No; but he’s my chum in Gray’s old study, and it’s 
near prayer-time, and I haven’t had a look at it yet. 
Come along, Arthur.” 

Away went the two, Tom longing to get his charge 
safe under cover, where he might advise him on his de- 
portment. 

“ What a queer chum for Tom Brown,” was the com- 
ment at the fire, and it must be confessed Tom thought 
so himself, as he lighted his candle, and surveyed the 
new green-baize curtains and the carpet and sofa with 
much satisfaction. 

“Tsay, Arthur, what a brick your mother is to make 
us so cozy. But look here, now, you must answer 
straight up when the fellows speak to you, and don’t be 
afraid. If you’re afraid, you'll get bullied. And don’t 
you say you can sing; and don’t you ever talk about 
home, and your mother and sisters.” 

Poor little Arthur looked ready to cry. 

“ But please,” said he, “ mayn’t I talk about—about 
home to you?” 

‘“¢ Oh, yes, I like it. But don’t talk to boys you don’t 
know, or they'll call you home-sick, or mamma’s darling, 
or some such stuff. What a jolly desk! is that yours? 
And what stunning binding! why, your school-books 
look like novels.” 


252 TOM BRCWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


And Tom was soon deep in Arthur’s goods and chat- 
tels, all new and good enough for a fifth-form boy, and 
hardly thought of his friends outside, till the prayer-bell 
rang. 

I have already described the school-house prayers ; 
they were the same on the first night as on the other 
nights, save for the gaps caused by the absence of those 
boys who came late, and the line of new boys who stood 
all together at the further table—of all sorts and sizes, 
like young bears with all their troubles to come, as 
Tom’s father had said to him when he was in the same 
position. He thought of it as he looked at the line, and 
poor little slight Arthur standing with them, and as he 
was leading him up stairs to Number 4, directly after 
prayers, and showing him his bed. It was a huge, high, 
airy room, with two large windows looking on to the 
school close. There were twelve beds in the room—the 
one in the furthest corner by the fireplace occupied by 
the sixth-form boy, who was responsible for the disci- 
pline of the room, and the rest by boys in the lower fifth 
and other junior forms, all fags (for the fifth-form boys, 
as has been said, slept in rooms by themselves). Being 
fags, the eldest of them was not more than about sixteen 
years old, and all were bound to be up and in bed by 
ten; the sixth-form boys came to bed from ten to a 
quarter past (at which time the old verger came round 
to put the candles out), except when they sat up to 
read. | 

Within a few minutes, therefore, of their entry, all 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 253 


the other boys who slept in Number 4 had come up 
The little fellows went quietly to their own beds, and 
began undressing and talking to each other in whispers ; 
while the elder, amongst whom was Tom, sat chatting 
about on one another’s beds, with their jackets and waist- 
coats off. Poor little Arthur was overwhelmed with the 
novelty of his position. The idea of sleeping in the 
room with strange boys had clearly never crossed his 
mind before, and was as painful as it was strange to 
him. He could hardly bear to take his jacket off ; how- 
ever, presently, with an effort, off it came, and then he 
paused and looked at Tom, who was sitting at the bot- 
tom of his bed talking and laughing. 

“Please, Brown,’ he whispered, may I wash my face 
and hands ?” | 

“Of course, if you like,” said Tom, staring; “ that’s 
your’ washhand-stand, under the window, second from 
your bed. You'll have to go down for more water in the 
morning if you use it all.” And on he went with his 
talk, while Arthur stole timidly from between the beds 
out to his washhand-stand, and began his ablutions, 
thereby drawing for a moment on himself the attention 
of the room. 

On went the talk and laughter. Arthur finished his 
washing and undressing, and put on his night-gown. 
He then looked round more nervously than ever. Two 
or three of the little boys were already in bed, sitting up 
with their chins on their kness. The light burned clear, 
the noise went on. It was a trying moment for the poor 


254 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


little lonely boy ; however, this time he didn’t ask Tom 
what he might or might not do, but dropped on his 
knees by his bedside, as he had done every day from his 
childhood, to open his heart to Him who heareth the cry 
and beareth the sorrows of the tender child, and the 
strong man in agony. 

Tom was sitting at the bottom of his bed unlacing his 
boots, so that his back was towards Arthur, and he didn’t 
see what had happened, and looked up in wonder at the 
sudden silence. Then to or three boys laughed and 
sneered, and a big brutal fellow, who was standing in the 
middle of the room, picked up a slipper, and shied it at 
the kneeling boy, calling him a snivelling young shaver. 
Then Tom saw the whole, and the next moment the 
boot he had just pulled off flew straight at the head of 
the bully, who had just time to throw up his arm and 
catch it on his elbow. 

“Confound you, Brown, what’s that for?” roared he, 
stamping with pain. 

“Never mind what it’s for,” said Tom, stepping on 
tothe floor, every drop of blood in his body tingling ; “ if 
any fellow wants the other boot, he knows how to get it.” 

What would have been the result is doubtful, for at 
this moment the sixth-form boy came in, and not another 
word could be said. Tom and the rest rushed into bed 
and finished their unrobing there, and the old verger, as 
punctual as the clock, had put out the candle in another 
minute, and toddled on to the next room, shutting their 
door with his usual “ Good night, genl’m’n.” 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 258 


There were many boys in the room by whom that 
little scene was taken to heart before they slept. But 
sleep seemed to have deserted the pillow of poor Tom. 
For some time his excitement, and the flood of memories 
which chased one another through his brain, kep® him 
from thinking or resolving. His head throbbed, his 
heart leapt, and he could hardly keep himself from 
springing out of bed and rushing about the room. Then 
the thought of his own mother came across him, and the 
promise he had made at her knee, years ago, never to 
forget to kneel by his bedside, and give himself up to 
his Father before he laid his head on the pillow, from 
which it might never rise ; and he lay down gently and 
cried as if his heart would break. He was only fourteen 
years old. 

It was no light act of courage in those days, my dear 
boys, for a little fellow to say his prayers publicly even 
at Rugby. A few years later, when Arnold’s manly 
piety had begun to leaven the school, the tables turned ; 
before he died, in the school-house at least, and I believe 
in the other houses, the rule was the other way, but poor 
Tom had come to school in other times. The first few 
nights after he came he did not kneel down because of 
the noise, but sat up in bed till the candle was out. So 
did many another poor little fellow. Then he began to 
think that he might just as well say his prayers in bed, 
and then that it did not matter whether he was kneeling, 
or sitting, or lying down. And so it had come to pass 

with Tom as with all those who will not confess their 


256 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


Lord before men: and for the last year he had probably . 
not said his prayers in earnest a dozen times. 

Poor Tom! the first and bitterest feeling which was 
like to break his heart was the sense of his own coward- 
ice. “The vice of all others which he loathed was brought 
in and burned in on his own soul. He had lied to his 
mother, to his conscience, to his God. How could he 
bear it? And then the poor little weak boy, whom he 
had pitied and almost scorned for his weakness, had done 
that which he, braggart as he was, dared not do. The 
first dawn of comfort came to him in swearing to 
himself that he would stand by that boy through thick | 
and thin, and cheer him, and help him, and bear his bur- 
dens, for the good deed done that night. Then he re- 
solved to write home next day and tell his mother all, 
and what a coward her son had been. And then peace 
came to him as he resolved, lastly, to bear his testimony 
next morning. The morning would be harder than the 
night to begin with, but he felt that he could not afford 
to let one chance slip. Several times he faltered, for the 
devil showed him first all his old friends calling him 
“Saint” and ‘ Square-toes,” and a dozen hard names, 
and whispered to him that his motives would be mis- 
understood, and he would only be left alone with the 
new boy; whereas it was his duty to keep all means of 
influence, that he might do good to the largest number. 
And then came the more subtle temptation, “Shall I 
not be showing myself braver than others by doing 
this? Have I any right to begin it now? Ought I not 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 257 


rather to pray in my own study, letting other boys know 
that I doso, and trying to lead them to it, while in public, 
at least, I should goonas I havedone?”” However, his 
good angel was too strong that night, and he turned on 
his side and slept, tired of trying to reason, but resolved 
to follow the impulse which had been so strong, and in 
which he had found peace. 

Next morning he was up and washed and dressed, 
all but his jacket and waistcoat, just as the ten minutes 
bell began to ring, and then in the face of the whole 
room knelt down to pray. Not five words could he say 
—the bell mocked him; he was listening for every 
whisper in the room—what were they all thinking of 
him? Hewas ashamed to go on kneeling, ashamed to 
rise from his knees. At last,as it were from his inmost 
heart, a still small voice seemed to breathe forth the 
words of the publican, ‘‘ God be merciful to me a sinner!” 
He repeated them over and over, clinging to them as for 
his life, and rose from his knees confronted and humbled, 
and ready to face the whole world. It was not needed: 
two other boys besides Arthur had already followed his 
example, and he went down to the great school with the 
glimmering of another lesscn in his heart—the lesson 
that he who has conquered his own coward spirit has 
conquered the whole outward world ; and that other one 
which the old prophet learned in the cave in Mount 
Horeb, when he hid his face, and the still small voice 
asked, “ What dost thou here, Elijah?” that however we 
may fancy ourselves alone on the side of good, the King 

17 


258 TOM BROWWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


and Lord of men is nowhere without his witnesses; for 
in every society, however seemingly corrupt and godless 
there are those who have not bowed the knee to Baal. 

He found, too, how greatly he had exaggerated the 
effect to be produced by this act. For a few nights there 
was a sneer or a laugh when he knelt down, but this 
passed off soon, and one by one all the other boys but 
three or four followed the lead. I fear that this was in 
some measure owing to the fact that Tom could proba- 
bly have thrashed any boy in the room except the prze- 
postor ; at any rate, every boy knew that he would try 
upon very slight provocation, and didn’t choose to run the 
risk of a hard fight because Tom Brown had taken a 
fancy to say his prayers. Somé of the small boys of 
Number 4 communicated the new state of things to 
their chums, and in several other rooms the poor little 
fellows tried it on—in one instance or so, where the pre- 
poster heard of it and interfered very decidedly, with 
partial success; but in the rest, after a short struggle, 
the confessors were bullied or laughed down, and the old 
state of things went on for some time longer. Before 
either Tom Brown or Arthur left the school-house, there 
was no room in which it had not become the regula 
custom. I trust it is so still, and that the old heathen 
state of things has gone out forever. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHVOL-DA YS, 259 


Gia rhe 


THE NEW BOY. 


** And Heaven’s rich instincts in him grew, 
As effortless as woodland nooks 


Send violets up and paint them blue.’’—LowgLue 


I po not mean to recount all the little troubles and 
ani oyances which thronged upon Tom at the beginning 
of this half-year, in his new character of bear-leader to a 
gentle little boy straight from home. He seemed to 
himself to have become a new boy again, without any of 
the long-suffering and meekness indispensable for sup- 
porting that character with moderate success. From 
morning to night he had the feeling of responsibility on 
his mind, and even if he left Arthur in their study or in 
the close for an hour, was never at ease till he had him 
in sight again. He waited for him at the doors of the 
school after every lesson and every calling-over ; watched 
that no tricks were played upon him, and none but the 
regulation questions asked ; kept his eye on his plate at 
dinner and breakfast, to see that no unfair depredations 
were made upon his viands ; in short,as East remarked, 
cackled after him like a hen with one chick. 

Arthur took a long time thawing, too, which made it 
all the harder work; was sadly timid; scarcely ever 
spoke unless Tom spoke to him first ; and, worst of all, 
would agree with him in everything, the hardest thing 


260 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. . 


in the world for a Brown to bear. He got quite angry 
sometimes, as they sat together of a night in their study, 
at this provoking habit of agreement, and was on the 
point of breaking out a dozen times with a lecture upon 
the propriety of a fellow having a will of his own and 
speaking out, but managed to restrain himself by the 
thought that it might only frighten Arthur, and the re- 
membrance of the lesson he had learned from him on his 
first night at Number 4. Then he would resolve to sit 
still, and not say a word till Arthur began ; but he was 
always beat at that game, and had presently to begin 
talking, in despair, fearing lest Arthur might think he 
was vexed at something if he didn’t, and dog-tired of 
sitting tongue-tied. 

It was hard work. But-Tom had taken it up, and 
meant to stick to it, and go through with it,so as to 
satisfy himself, in which resolution he was much assisted 
by the chaffing of East and his other friends, who began 
to call him “dry-nurse,” and otherwise to break their 
small wit on him. But when they took other ground, 
as they did every now and then, Tom was sorely 
puzzled. 

“Tell you what, Tommy,” East would say, “ you'll 
spoil young Hopeful with too much coddling. Why 
can’t you let him go about by himself, and find his own 
level? He'll never be worth a button if you go on keep- 
ing him under your skirts.” 

“Well, but he ain't fit to fight his own way yet; I’m 
trying to get him to it every day—but he’s very odd. 


TOM BROWW’S SCHOOL-DAYS, 261 


Poor little beggar! I can’t make him out a bit. He 
ain't a bit like anything I’ve ever seen or heard of—he 
seems all over nerves ; anything you say seems to hurt 
him like a cut or a blow.” } 

“That sort of boy’s no use here,” said East ; “he'll 
only spoil. I'll tell you what to do, Tommy. Go and 
get a nice large bandbox made, and put him in with 
plenty of cotton-wool, and a pap-bottle, labelled ‘ With 
care—this side up, and send him back to mamma.” 

“J think I shall make a hand of him, though,” said 
Tom, smiling, “say what you will. There’s something 
about him, every now and then, which shows me he’s 
got pluck somewhere in him. That’s the only thing, 
after all, that'll wash, ain’t it, old Scud? But how to get 
at it and bring it out?” 

Tom took one hand out of his breeches’ pocket and 
stuck it in his back hair for a scratch, giving his hat a 
tilt over his nose, his one method of invoking wisdom. 
He stared at the ground with a ludicrously puzzled look, 
and presently looked up and met East's eyes. That 
young gentleman slapped him on the back, and then put 
his arm round his shoulder, as they strolled through the 
quadrangle together. “Tom,” said he, “blest if you 
ain't the best old fellow ever was. I do like to see you 
- gointoathing. Hang it, I wish I could take things as 
you do; but I can never get higher than a joke. Every 
thing’s a joke. If I was going to be flogged next min- 
ute, I should be in a blue funk, but I couldn’t help laugh- 
ing at it for the life of me.” 


262 70M BROWN’S SCHUOL-DA YS. 


“ Brown and East, you go and fag for Jones on the 
great fives -court.” 

“ Hullo! that’s past a joke,” broke out East, spring- 
ing at the young gentleman who addressed them, and 
catching him by the collar. “ Here, lommy, catch hold 
of him t’other side before he can holla.” 

The youth was seized and dragged struggling out of 
the quadrangle into the school-house hall. He was one 
of the miserable little pretty white-handed curly-headed 
boys, petted and pampered by some of the big fellows; 
who wrote their verses for them, taught them to drink 
and use bad language, and did all they could to spoil 
them for everything* in this world and the next. One 
of the avocations in which these young gentlemen took 
particular delight was in going about and getting fags 
for their protectors, when those heroes were playing any 
game. They carried about pencil and paper with them, 
putting down the names of all the boys they sent, always 
sending five times as many as were wanted, and getting 
all those thrashed who didn’t go. The present youth 
belonged to a house which was very jealous of the school- 
house, and always picked out school-house fags when he 
could find them. However, this time he'd got the wrong 
sow by the ear. His captors slammed the great door of 
the hall,and East put his back against it, while Tom 
gave the prisoner a shake-up, took away his list, and 

* A kind and wise critic, an old Rugbcean, notes here in the margin : The 
“small friend system was not so utterly bad from 1841-1847.” Before that, too 


there were many noble friendships between big and little boys, but I can’t strike 
out the passage; many boys will know why it is left in. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 263 


stood him up on the floor, while he proceeded leisurely 
to examine that document. 
» 


“Let me out, let me go!” screamed the boy ina 


furious passion. “I'll go and tell Jones this minute, and 


he'll give you both the thrashing you ever had.” 

“ Pretty little dear,” said East, patting the top of his 
hat; “hark how he swears, Tom. Nicely brought-up 
young man, ain’t he, I don’t think.” 

“Let me alone,—— you,” roared the boy, foaming 
with rage, and kicking at East, who quietly tripped him 
up, and deposited him on the floor in a place of safety. 


’ 


“Gently, young fellow,” said he; “’taint improving 
for little whippersnappers like you to be indulging ‘in 
blasphemy ; so you stop that, or you'll get something 
you won't like.” 

“T’ll have you both licked when I get out, that I 
_ will,” rejoined the boy, beginning to snivel. 

“Two can play at that game, mind you,” said Tom, 
who had finished his examination of the list. “Now 
you just listen here. We've just come across the fives’- 
court, and Jones has four fags there already, two more 
than he wants. If he’d wanted us to change, he’d have 
stopped us himself. And here, you little blackguard, | 
you've got seven names down on your list besides ours, 
and five of them school-house.” Tom walked up to him 
and jerked him on to his legs; he was by this time 
whining like a whipped puppy. 

“ Now just listen to me. We ain't going to fag for 
Jones. If you tell him you've sent us, we'll each of us 


264 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


give you such a thrashing as you'll remember.” And 
Tom tore up the list and threw the pieces into the fire. 
“ And mind you too,” said East, “don’t let me catch 
you again sneaking about the school-house, and picking 
up our fags. You haven’t got the sort of hide to take 


’ 


a sound licking kindly ;” and he opened the door and 
sent the young gentleman flying into the quadrangle, 
with a parting kick. 

“Nice boy, Tommy,” said East, shoving his hands 
in his pockets and strolling to the fire. 

“ Worst sort we breed,” responded Tom, following his 
example. ‘ Thank goodness, no big fellow ever took to | 
petting me.” — 

“You'd never have been like that,’ said East. “I 
should like to have put him in a museum :—Christian 
young gentleman, nineteenth century, highly educated. 
Stir him up with a long pole, Jack, and hear him swear 
like a drunken sailor! He’d make a respectable public 
open its eyes, I think.” 

“Think he'll tell Jones?” said Tom. 

“No,” said East. “Don’t care if he does.” 

“Nor I,” said Tom. And they went back to talk 
about Arthur. | 

The young gentleman had brains enough not to tell 
Jones, reasoning that East and Brown, who were noted 
as two of the toughest fags in the school, wouldn’t care 
three straws for any licking Jones might give them, and 
would be likely to keep their words as to passing it on 
with interest. 


7OM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 266 


After the above conversation, East came a great deal 
to their study, and took notice of Arthur; and soon 
allowed to Tom that he was a thorough little gentleman, 
and would get over his shyness all in good time, which 
much comforted our hero. He felt every day, too, the 
value of having an object in his life, something that drew 
him out of himself; and, it being the dull time of the 
year, and no games going about which he much cared, 
was happier than he had ever yet been at school, which 
was saying a great deal. 

The time which Tom allowed himself away from his 
charge was from locking-up till supper-time. During 
this hour or hour and a half he used to take his fling, 
going round to the studies of all his acquaintances, spar- 
ring or gossipping in the hall, now jumping the old 
_iron-bound tables, or carving a bit of his 1..me on them,. 
then joining in some chorus of merry voices ; in fact, 
blowing off his steam, as we should now call it. | 

This process was so congenial to his temper, and 
Arthur showed himself so pleased at the arrangement, 
that it was several weeks before Tom was ever in their 
study before supper. One evening, however, he rushed 
in to look for an old chisel, or some corks, or other 
article essential to his pursuit for the time being, and 
while rummaging about in the cupboards, looked up for 
a moment, and was caught at once by the figure of poor 
little Arthur. The boy was sitting with his elbows on 
the table, and his head leaning on his hands, and before 
him an open book, on which his tears were falling fast. 


266 TOM BROWN’'S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


Tom shut the door at once, and sat down on the sofa by 
Arthur, putting his arm round his neck. 

“Why, young ’un! what’s the matter?” said he, 
kindly ; “ you ain’t unhappy, are you?” 

“Oh no, Brown,” said the little boy, looking up with 
the great tears in his eyes, “ you are so kind to me, I’m 
very happy.” 

“Why don’t you call me Tom? lots of boys do that 
I don’t like half so muchas you. What are you reading, 
then? Hang it, you must come about with me, and not 
mope yourself ;” and Tom cast down his eyes on the 
book, and saw it was the Bible. He was silent for a 
minute, and thought to himself, “Lesson Number 2, 


”) 


Tom Brown ;” and then said, gently, 

“T’m very glad to see this, Arthur, and ashamed that 
I don't read the Bible more myself. Do you read it. 
every night before supper while I’m out ?” 

Roviesis 

“Well, I wish you'd wait till afterwards, and then 
we'd read together. But, Arthur, why does it make you 
cry?” 

“Oh, it isn’t that 1’m unhappy. But at home, while 
my father was alive, we always read the lessons after 
tea ; and I love to read them over now, and try to re- 
member what he said about them. I can’t remember 
all, and I think I scarcely understand a great deal of 
what Ido remember. But it all comes back to me so 
fresh, that I can’t help crying sometimes to think I shall 
never read them again with him.” 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 26% 


Arthur had never spoken of his home before, and 
Tom hadn’t encouraged him to do so, as his blundering 
school-boy reasoning made him think that Arthur would 
be softened and less manly for thinking of home. But 
now he was fairly interested, and forgot all about chisels 
and bottled beer; while with very little encouragement 
Arthur launched into his home history, and the prayer- 
bell put them both out sadly when it rang to call them 
to the hall. 7 

From this time Arthur constantly spoke of his home, 
and above all, of his father, who had been dead about a 
year, and whose memory Tom soon got to love and 
reverence almost as much as his own son did. 

Arthur’s father had been the clergyman of a parish 
in the Midland Counties, which had risen into a large 
town during the war, and upon which the hard years 
which followed had fallen with a fearful weight. The 
trade had been half. ruined ; and then came the old sad 
story, of masters reducing their establishments, men 
turned off and wandering about, hungry and wan in 
body and fierce in soul, from the thought of wives and 
children starving at home, and the last sticks of furniture 
going to the pawn-shop. Children taken from school, 
and lounging about the dirty streets and courts, too list- 
less almost to play, and squalid in rags and misery. 
And then the fearful struggle between the employers 
and men; lowerings of wages, strikes, and the long 
course of oft-repeated crime, ending every now and then 
with a riot, a fire, and the county yeomanry. There is 


268 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


no need here to dwell upon such tales; the Englishman 
into whose soul they have not sunk deep, is not worthy 
the name; you English boys for whom this book is 
meant (God bless your bright faces and kind hearts !) 
will learn it all soon enough. | 

Into such a parish and state of society Arthur’s father 
had been thrown at the age of twenty-five, a young 
married person, full of faith, hope and love. He had 
battled with it like a man, and had lots of fine Utopian 
ideas about the perfectibility of mankind, glorious 
humanity, and such-like, knocked out of his head, and a 
real wholesome Christian love for the poor struggling, 
sinning men, of whom he felt himself one, and with and 
for whom he spent fortune, and strength, and life, driven 
into his heart. He had battled like a man, and gotten 
a man’s reward. No silver teapots or. salvers, with 
flowery inscriptions, setting forth his virtues and the 
appreciation of a genteel parish; no fat living or stall ~ 
for which he never looked, and didn't care; no sighs 
and praises of comfortable dowagers and well-got-up 
young women, who worked him slippers, sugared his 


” 


tea, and adored him as “a devoted man;” but a manly 
respect, wrung from the unwilling souls of men who 
fancied his order their natural enemies; the fear and 
hatred of every one who was false or unjust in the dis- 
trict, were he master or man; and the blessed sight of 
women and children daily becoming more human and 
more homely, a comfort to themselves and to their 


husbands and fathers. 


TOM BROWN’ S SCHOOL-DA YS. 269 


These things of course took time, and had to be 
fought for with toil and sweat of brain and heart, and 
with the life-blood poured out. All that, Arthur had 
laid his account to give, and took as a matter of course, 
neither pitying himself nor looking on himself as a 
martyr, when he felt the wear and tear making him feel 
old before his time, and the stifling air of fever dens 
telling on his health. His wife seconded him in every- 
thing. She had been rather fond of society, and much 
admired and run after before her marriage; and the 
London world to which she had belonged pitied poor 
Fanny Evelyn when she married the young clergyman, 
and went to settle in that smoky hole Turley, a very 
nest of chartism and atheism, in a part of the county 
which all the decent families had had to leave for years, 
However, somehow or other she didn’t seem to care. 
If her husband’s living had been amongst green fields 
and near pleasant neighbors, she would have liked it 
better—that she never pretended to deny. But there 
they were: the air wasn’t bad after all ; the people very 
good sort of people, civil to you if you were civil to 
them, after the first brush; and they didn’t expect you 
to work miracles, and convert them all off-hand into 
model Christians. So he and she went quietly among 
the folk, talking to and treating them just as they would 
have done people of their own rank. They didn’t feel 
that they were doing anything out of the common way, 
and so were perfectly natural, and had none of that con- 


descension or consciousness of manner which so out- 


270 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


rages the independent poor. And thus they gradually 
won. respect and confidence; and after sixteen years he 
was looked up to by the whole neighborhood as ¢he just 
man, 7##e man to whom masters and men could go in 
their strikes, and in all their quarrels and difficulties, 
and by whom the right and true word would be said 
without fear or favor. And the women had come round 
to take her advice, and go to her as a friend in all their 
troubles, while the children all worshipped the very 
ground she trod on. 

They had three children, two daughters and a son, 
little Arthur, who came between his sisters. He had 
been a very delicate boy from his childhood; they 
thought he had a tendency to consnmption, and so he 
had been kept at home and taught by his father, who 
had made a companion of him, and from whom he had 
gained good scholarship, and a knowledge of and inter- 
est in many subjects which boys in general never come 
across till they are many years older. 

Just as he reached his thirteenth year, and his father 
had settled that he was strong enough to go to school, 
and, after much debating with himself, had resolved to 
send him there, a desperate typhus-fever broke out in 
the town; most of the other clergy, and almost all the 
doctors, ran away ; the work fell with tenfold weight on 
those who stood to their work. Arthur and his wife 
both caught the fever, of which he died in a few days, 
and she recovered, having been able to nurse him to the 
end, and store up his last words. He was sensible to 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 27% 


the last, and calm and happy, leaving his wife and 
children with fearless trust for a few years in the hands 
of the Lord and Friend who had lived and died for him, 
and for whom he, to the best of his power, had lived 
and died. His widow's mourning was deep and gentle; 
she was more affected by the request of the committee 
of a freethinking club, established in the town by some 
of the factory hands (which he had striven against with 
might and main, and had nearly suppressed), that some 
of their number might be allowed to help bear the 
coffin, than by anything else. Two of them were 
chosen, who with six other laboring men, his own fel- 
low-workmen and friends, bore him to his grave—a man 
who had fought the Lord’s fight even unto the death. 
The shops were closed and the factories shut that day 
in the parish, yet no master stopped the day’s wages; 
but for many a year afterwards the townsfolk felt the 
want of that brave, hopeful, loving person, and his wife, 
who had lived to teach them mutual forbearance and 
hopefulness, and had almost at last given them a 
climpse of what this old world would be if people would 
live for God and each other, instead of for themselves. 
What has all this to do with our story? Well, my 
dear boys, let a fellow go on his own way, or you won't 
get anything out of him worth having. I must show 
you what sort of a man it was who had begotten and 
trained little Arthur, or else you won’t believe in him, 
which I am resolved you shall do; and you won't see 
how he, the timid, weak boy, had points in him from 


275 TOM. BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


which the bravest and strongest recoiled, and made his 
presence and example felt from the first on all sides, un- 
consciously to himself, and without the least attempt at 
proselytizing. The spirit of his father was in him, and 
the Friend to whom his father had left him did not 
neglect the trust. 

After supper that night, and almost nightly for years 
afterwards, Tom and Arthur, and by degrees East occa- 
sionally, and sometimes one, sometimes another, of their 
friends, read a chapter of the Bible together, and talked 
it over afterwards. Tom was at first utterly astonished, 
and almost shocked, at the sort of way in which Arthur 
read the book, and talked about the men and women 
whose lives were there told. The first night they hap- 
pened to fallon the chapters about the famine in Egypt, 
and Arthur began talking about Joseph as if he werea 
living statesman—just as he might have talked about 
Lord Grey and the Reform bill, only that they were 
much more living realities tohim. The book was to him, 
Tom saw, the most vivid and delightful history of real 
people, who might do right or wrong, just like any one 
who was walking about in Rugby—-the Doctor, or the 
masters, or the sixthform boys. But the astonishment 
soon passed off ; the scales seemed to drop from his eyes, 
and the book became at once and forever to him the great 
human and divine book, and the men and women, whom 
he had looked upon as something quite different from 
himself, became his friends and counsellors. 

For our purposes, however, the history of one night’s 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 273 


reading will be sufficient, which must be told here, now 
that we are on the subject, though it didn’t happen till a 
year afterwards, and long after the events recorded in 
the next chapter of our story. 

Arthur, Tom and East were together one night, and 
read the story of Naaman coming to Elisha to be cured 
of his leprosy. When the chapter was finished, Tom 
shut his Bible with a slap. 

“T can’t stand that fellow Naaman,” said he, “after 
what he’d seen and felt, going back and bowing himself 
down in the house of Rimmon, because his effeminate 
scoundrel of a master did it. I wonder Elisha took the 
trouble to heal him. How he must have despised him!” 

“ Yes, there you go off as usual, with a shell on your 
head,” struck in East, who always took the opposite side 
to Tom, half from love of argument, half from conviction. 
“ How do you know he didn’t think better of it? How 
do. you know his master was a scoundrel? His letter 
don’t look like it, and the book don’t say so.” 

“T don't care,” rejoined Tom ; “ why did Naaman talk 
about bowing down, then, if he didn’t mean to do it? 
He wasn’t likely to get more in earnest when he got 
back to court, and away from the prophet.” 

“Well but, Tom,” said Arthur, “look what Elisha 
says to him, ‘Go in peace. He wouldn't have said that 
if Naaman had been in the wrong.” 

“T don’t see that that means more than saying, 
‘You're not the man I took you for.’” 

“No, no, that won’t do at all,” said East; “ read the 


274 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS, 


words fairly, and take men as you find them. I like 
Naaman, and think he was a very fine fellow.” 

“T don't,” said Tom, positively. 

“Well, I think East is right,” said Arthur ; “I can’t 
see but what it’s right to do the best you can, though it 
mayn’t be the best absolutely. Every man isn’t born to 
be a martyr.” 

“ Oi course, of course,” said East; “ but he’s on one 
of his pet hobbies. How often have I told yau, Tom, 
that you must drive a nail where it ll go?” 

“And how often have I told you,” rejoined Tom, 
“that it’ll always go where you want, if you only stick to 
it and hit hard enough. I hate half-measures and com- 
promises.” 

“Yes, he’s a whole-hog man, is Tom. Must have the 
whole animal, hair and teeth, claws and tail,’ laughed 
East. ‘Sooner have no bread any day than half the 
loaf.” 

“T don’t know,” said Arthur, “it’s rather puzzling; 
but ain’t most right things got by proper compromises— 
I mean where the principle isn’t given up?” 

“That’s just the point,” said Tom; “I don’t object 
to a compromise, where you don’t give up your prin- 
ciple.” 

“Not you,” said East, laughingly. “I know him of 
old, Arthur, and you'll find him out some day. There 
isn’t such a reasonable fellow in the world, to hear him 
talk. He never wants anything but what’s right and 
fair; only when you come to settle what’s right and fair, 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 275 


it’s everything that he wants, and nothing that you want. 
And that’s his idea of acompromise. Give me the Brown 
compromise when I’m on his side.” 

“Now Harry,” said Tom, “no more chaff—I’m 
serious. Look here—this is what makes my blood 
tingle ;” and he turned over the pages of his Bible and 
read, “ Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego answered and 
said to the king, ‘O Nebuchadnezzar, we are not careful 
to answer thee in this manner. If it de so, our God 
whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning 
fiery furnace, and He will deliver us out of thine hand, 
O king. But zf xoz, be it known unto thee, O king, that 
we will zot serve thy gods, nor worship the golden 
image which thou hast set up.’” He read the last 
verse twice, emphasizing the notes, and dwelling on 
them as if they gave him actual pleasure, and were hard 
to part with. 

They were silent a minute, and then Arthur said, 
“Yes, that’s a glorious story, but it don’t prove your 
point, Tom, I think. There are times when there is 
only one way, and that the highest, and then the men 
are found to stand in the breach.” 

“There's always a highest way, and it’s always the 
right one,” said Tom. “How many times has the 
Doctor told us that in his sermons in the last year, I 
should like to know?” 

“Well, you ain’t going to convince us, is he, Arthur ? 
No Brown compromise to-night,” said East, looking at 


276 TOM BROWWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


his watch. “ But it’s past eight, and we must go to first 


lesson. What a bore!” 
So they took down their books and fell to work; but 


Arthur didn’t forget, and thought long and often over 


the conversation. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. ony 


CHAPTER TIL. 


ARTHUR MAKES A FRIEND, 


**Let Nature be your teacher, 
Sweet is the lore which Nature brings ; 
Our meddling intellect 
Misshapes the beauteous forms of things. 
We murder to dissect— 
Enough of Science and of Art; 
Close up those barren leaves: 
Come forth, and bring with you a heart 
That watches and receives.’””>—WorDSWwoRTH. 


ABOUT six weeks after the beginning of the half, as 
Tom and Arthur were sitting one night before supper 
beginning their verses, Arthur suddenly stopped, looked 
up, and said, “Tom, do you know anything of Martin?” 

“Yes,” said Tom, taking his hand out of his back 
hair, and delighted to throw his Gradus ad Parnassum 
on to the sofa; “I know him pretty well. He’s a very 
good fellow, but as mad as ahatter. He's called Mad- 
man, you know. And never was such a fellow for get- 
ting all sorts of rum things about him. He tamed two 
snakes last half, and used to carry them about in his 
pocket, and I’ll be bound he’s got some hedgehogs and 
rats in his cupboard now, and no one knows what 
besides.” 

“T should like very much to know him,” said Arthur ; 
“he was next to me in the form to-day, and he’d lost his 
book and looked over mine, and he seemed so kind and 
gentle, that I liked him very much.” 


278 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


“Ah, poor old Madman, he’s, always losing his 
books,” said Tom, “‘and getting called up and floored 
because he hasn’t got them. 

“T like him all the better,” said Arthur. 

“Well, he’s great fun, I can tell you,” said: Tom, 
throwing himself back on the sofa, and chuckling at the 
remembrance. “We had such a game with him one 
day last half. He had been kicking up horrid stinks for 
some time in his study, till I suppose some fellow told 
Mary, and she told the Doctor. Anyhow, one day, a 
little before dinner, when he came down from the 
library, the Doctor, instead-of going home, came strid- 
ing into the hall. East and I and five or six other fel- 
lows were at the fire, and preciously we stared, for he 
don’t come in like that once a year, unless it is a wet 
day and there’s a fight in the hall. ‘East,’ says he, 
‘just come and show me Martin’s study.’ ‘Oh, here’s a 
game, whispered the rest of us, and we all cut up stairs 
after the Doctor, East leading. As we got into the- 
New Row, which was hardly wide enough to hold the 
Doctor and his gown, click, click, click, we heard in the 
old Madman’s den. Then that stopped all of a sudden, 
and the bolts went to like fun: the Madman knew 
_ East’s step, and thought there was going to be a siege. 
“<Tt’s the Doctor, Martin. He’s here, and wants to 
see you, sings out East.’ 

“Then the bolts went back slowly, and the door 
opened, and there was the old Madman standing, look- 
ing precious scared; his jacket off, his shirt-sleeves up 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 249 
to his elbows, and his long skinny arms all covered with 
anchors and arrows and letters, tattooed in with. gun- 
powder like a sailor-boy’s, and a stink fit to knock you 
down coming out. ’Twas all the Doctor could do to 
stand his ground, and East and I, who were looking in 
under his arms, held our noses tight. The old magpie 
was standing on the window-sill, all his feathers droop- 
ing, and looking disgusted and half-poisoned. 

“«What can you be about, Martin?’ says the Doc- 
tor; ‘you really musn’t go.on in this way—you're a 
nuisance to the whole passage.’ 

“« Please, sir, I was only mixing up this powder: 
there isn’t any harm in it;’ and the Madman seized 
nervously on his pestle and mortar, to show the Doctor 
the harmlessness of his pursuits, and went off pounding ; 
click, click, click; he hadn’t given six clicks before, 
puff! up went the whole into a great blaze, away went 
the pestle and mortar across the study, and back we 
tumbled into the passage. The magpie fluttered down 
into the court, swearing, and the Madman danced out, 
howling, with his fingers in his mouth. The Doctor 
caught hold of him, and called to us to fetch some water. 
‘There, you silly fellow,’ said he, quite pleased though 
to find he wasn’t much hurt, ‘you see you don’t know 
the least what you’re doing with all these things; and 
now, mind, you must give up practising chemistry by 
yourself.’ Then he took hold of his arm and looked at 
it, and I saw he had to bite his lip, and his eyes twin- 
ked; but he said, quite grave, ‘Here, you see, you’ve 


280 TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DAVS. 


been making all these foolish marks on ‘yourself, which 
you can never get out, and you'll be very sorry for it in 
a year or two; now come down to the housekeeper’s 
room, and let us see if you are hurt.” And away went 
the two, and we all stayed and had a regular turn-out of 
the den, till Martin came back with his hand bandaged 
and turned us out. However, I'll go and see what he’s 
after, and tell him to come in after prayers to supper.” 
And away went Tom to find the boy in question, who 
dwelt in a little study by himself, in New Row. 

The aforesaid Martin, whom Arthur had taken such 
a fancy for, was one of those unfortunates who were at 
that time of day (and are, I fear, still) quite out of their 
places at a public school. If we knew how to use our 
boys, Martin would have been seized upon and educated 
as a natural philosopher. He had a passion for birds, 
beasts, and insects, and knew more of them and their 
habits than any one in Rugby—except perhaps the 
Doctor, who knew everything. He was also an exper- 
imental chemist on a small scale, and had made unto 
himself an electric machine, from which it was his great- 
est pleasure and glory to administer small shocks to any 
small boys who were rash enough to venture into his 
study. And this was by no means an adventure free 
from excitement ; for, besides the probability of a snake 
dropping on to your head, or twining lovingly up your 
leg, or a rat getting into your breeches’-pocket in search 
of food, there was the animal and chemical odor to be 
faced which always hung about the den, and the chance 


OM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 281 


of being biown up in some of the many experiments 
which Martin was always trying, with the most won- 
drous results, in the shape of explosions and smells, that 
mortal boy ever heard of. Of course poor Martin, in 
consequence of his pursuits, had become an Ishmaelite 
in the house. In the first place, he half-poisoned all his 
neighbors, and they in turn were always on the look-out 
to pounce upon any of his numerous live-stock, and drive 
him frantic by enticing his old pet magpfe out of his 
window into a neighboring study, and making the dis- 
reputable old bird drunk on toast soaked in beer and 
sugar. Then Martin, for his sins, inhabited a study 
looking into a small court some ten feet across, the 
window of which was completely commanded by those 
of the studies opposite in the sick-room row, these latter 
being at a slightly higher elevation. East, and another 
boy of an equally tormenting and ingenious turn of 
mind, now lived exactly opposite, and had expended 
huge pains and time in the preparation of instruments 
of annoyance for the behoof of Martin and his live 
colony. One morning an old basket made its appear- 
ance, suspended by a short cord, outside Martin’s win- 
dow, in which were deposited an amateur nest contain- 
ing four young hungry jackdaws, the pride and glory of 
Martin’s life for the time being, and which he was cur- 
rently asserted to have hatched upon his own person. 
Early in the morning and late at night he was to be 
seen half out of the window, administering to the varied 
wants of his callow brood. After deep cogitation, East 


282 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 

and his chum had spliced a knife on to the end of a 
fishing-rod, and having watched Martin out, had, after 
half an hour’s severe sawing, cut the string by which 
the basket was suspended, and tumbled it on to the 
pavement below, with hideous remonstrance from the 
occupants. Poor Martin, returning from his short 
absence, collected the fragments and replaced his 
brood (except one whose neck had been broken in the 
descent) in“ their old location, suspending them this 
time by string and wire twisted together, defiant of any 
sharp instrument which his persecutors could command. 
But, like the Russian engineers at Sebastopol, East and 
his chum had an answer for every move of the adversary, 
and the next day had mounted a gun in the shape of a 
pea-shooter upon the ledge of their window, trained so 
as to bear exactly upon the spot which Martin had to 
occupy while tending his nurslings. The moment he 
began to feed, they began to shoot: in vain did the 
enemy himself invest in a pea-shooter, and endeavor to 
answer the fire while he fed the young birds with his 
other hand; his attention was divided, and his shots 
flew wild, while every one of theirs told on his face and 
hands, and drove him into howlings and imprecations. 
He had been driven to ensconce the nest in a corner of 
his already too-well-filled den. 

His door was barricaded by a set of ingenious bolts 
of his own invention, for the sieges were frequent by 
the neighbors when any unusually ambrosial odor spread 
itself from the den to the neighboring studies. The 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA VS. 283 


door panels were in a normal state of smash, but the 
frame of the door resisted all besiegers, and behind it 
the owner carried on his varied pursuits—much in the 
same state of mind, I should fancy, as a border-farmer 
lived in, in the days of the old moss-troopers, when his’ 
hold might be summoned or his cattle carried off at any 
minute of night or day. 

“Open, Martin, old boy—it’s only I, Tom Brown.” 

“Oh, very well, stop a moment.’ One bolt went 
back. ‘You're sure East isn’t there?” 

“No, no, hang it, open.” Tom gave a kick, the 
other bolt creaked, and he entered the den. 

Den indeed it was, about five feet six inches long by 
five wide, and seven feet high. About six tattered 
school-books, and a few chemical books, taxidermy, 
Stanley on Birds, and an odd volume of Bewick, the 
latter in much better preservation, occupied the top 
shelves. The other shelves, where they had not been 
cut away and used by the owner for other purposes, 
were fitted up for the abiding-places of birds, beasts» 
and reptiles. There was no attempt at carpet or cur- 
tain. The table was entirely occupied by the great 
work of Martin, the electric machine, which was covered 
carefully with the remains of his table-cloth. The jack- 
daw cage occupied one wall, and the other was adorned 
by a small hatchet, a pair of climbing irons, and his tin 
candle-box, in which he was for the time being endeav- 
oring te raise a hopeful young family of field-mice. As 
nothing should be let to lie useless, it was well that the 


284 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


candle-box was thus occupied, for candles Martin never 
had. A pound was issued to him weekly as to the 
other boys, but as candles were available capital, and 
easily exchangeable for birds’ eggs or young birds, 
Martin’s pound invariably found its way in a few hours 
to Howlett’s the bird-fancier’s, in the Bilton road, who 
would give a hawk’s or nightingale’s egg or young lin- 
net in exchange. Martin’s ingenuity was therefore for- 
ever on the rack to supply himself with a light; just 
now he had hit upon a grand invention, and the den was 
lighted by a flaring cotton-wick issuing from a ginger- 
beer bottle full of some doleful composition. When 
light altogether failed him, Martin would loaf about by 
the fires in the passages or hall, after the manner of 
Diggs, and try to do his verses or learn his lines by the 
fire-light. 

“Well, old boy, you haven’t got any sweeter in the 
den this half. How that stuff in the bottle stinks. 
Never mind, I ain’t going to stop, but you come up 
after prayers to our study; you know young Arthur, 
we've got Gray’s study. We'll have a good supper and 
talk about birds’-nesting.” 

Martin was evidently highly pleased at the invitation, 
and promised to be up without fail. 

As soon as prayers were over, the sixth and fifth- 
form boys had withdrawn to the aristocratic seclusion 
of their own room, and the rest, or democracy, had sat 
down to their supper in the hall; Tom and Arthur, 
having secured their allowances of bread and cheese 


4 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 285 


started on their feet to catch the eye of the przepostor, 
of the week, who remained in charge during supper, 
walking up and down the hall. He happened to be an 
easy-going fellow, so they got a pleasant nod to their 
“Please, may I go out?” and away they scrambled to 
prepare for Martin a sumptuous banquet. This Tom 
had_ insisted on, for he was in great delight on the occa- 
sion, the reason of which delight must be expounded. ? 
The fact was that this was the first attempt at a friend- 
ship of his own which Arthur had made, and Tom 
hailed it asa grand step. The ease with which he him- 
self became hail-fellow-well-met with anybody, and blun- 
dered into and out of twenty friendships a half-year, 
made him sometimes sorry and sometimes angry at 
Arthur’s reserve and loneliness. True, Arthur was 
always pleasant, and even jolly, with any boys who came 
with Tom to their study; but Tom felt that it was only 
through him, as it were, that his chum associated with 
others, and that but for him Arthur would have been 
dwelling in a wilderness. This increased his conscious- 
ness of responsibility ; and though he hadn’t reasoned 
it out and made it clear to himself, yet somehow he 
knew that this responsibility, this trust which he had 
taken on him without, thinking about it, head-over- heels, 
in fact, was the centre and turning-point of his school- 
life, that which was to make him or mar him—his ap- 
pointed work and trial for the time being. And Tom 
was becoming a new boy, though with frequent tumbles 
in the dirt and perpetual hard battle with himself, and 


286 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


was daily growing in manfulness and thoughtfulness, as 
every high-couraged and well-principled boy must, when 
he finds himself for the first time consciously at grips 
with self and the devil. Already he could turn almost 
without a sigh from the school-gates, from which had 
just scampered off East and three or four others of his 
own particular set, bound for some jolly lark not quite 
according to law, and involving probably a row with 
louts, keepers, or farm-laborers, the skipping dinner or 
calling-over, some of Phoebe Jennings’ beer, and a very 
possible flogging at the end of all asa relish. He had 
quite got over the stage in which he would grumble to 
himself, “ Well, hang it, it's very hard of the Doctor to 
have saddled me with Arthur. Why couldn’t he have 
chummed him with Fogey, or Thomkin, or any of the 
fellows who never do anything but walk round the close, 
and finish their copies the first day they're set?” But 
although all this was past, he often longed, and felt that 
he was right in longing, for more time for the legiti- 
mate pastimes of cricket, fives, bathing and fishing 
within bounds, in which Arthur could not yet -be his 
companion; and he felt that when the young ’un (as he 
now generally called him) had found a pursuit and some 
other friend for himself, he should be able to give more 
time to the education of his own body with a clear » 
conscience. 

And now what he so wished for had come to 
pass ; he almost hailed it as a special providence (as in- 
deed it was, but not for the reasons he gave for it—what 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 287 


providences are ?) that Arthur should have singled out 
Martin of all fellows for a friend. ‘The old Mad- 
man is the very fellow,” thought he; “he will take him 
scrambling over half the country after birds’ eggs and 
flowers, make him run and swim and climb like an In- 
dian, and not teach him a word of anything bad, or keep 
him from his lessons. What luck!” And so, with 
more than his usual heartiness, he dived into his cup- 
board, and hauled out an old knuckle-bone of ham, and 
two or three bottles of beer, together with the solemn 
pewter only used on state occasions; while Arthur, 
equally elated at the easy accomplishment of his first act 
of volition in the joint establishment, produced from his 
side a bottle of pickles and a pot of jam, and cleared the 
table. In a minute or two the noise of the boys coming 
up from supper was heard, and Martin knocked and was 
admitted, bearing his bread and cheese, and the three 
fell to with hearty good will upon the viands, talking 
faster than they ate, for all shyness disappeared in a 
moment before Tom’s bottled beer and hospitable ways. 
“Here’s Arthur, a-regular young town-mouse, with a 
natural taste for the woods, Martin, longing to break his 
neck~climbing trees, and with a passion for young 
snakes.” 

“Well, I say,” sputtered out Martin eagerly, “will 
you come to-morrow, both of you, to Caldecott’s Spinney, 
then, for I know of a kestrel’s nest, up a fir-tree—I can’t 
get at it without help; and, Brown, you can climb against 


any one,” 


288 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


“Oh yes, do let us go,’ said Arthur ; “I never saw 
a hawk’s nest, nor a hawk’s egg.” 
“Ycu just come down to my study, then, and I'll 


” 


show you five sorts,” said Martin. 

“ Aye, the old Madman has got the best collection in 
the house, out-and-out,’ said Tom; and then Martin, 
warming with unaccustomed good cheer and the chance 
of a convert, launched out into a proposed birds’ nesting 
campaign, betraying all manner of important secrets ; a 
golden-crested wren’s nest near Butlin’s Mound, a moor- 
hen who was sitting on nine eggs in a pond down the 
Barby road, and a kingfisher’s nest inacorner of the old 
canal above Brownsover Mill. He had heard, he said, 
that no one had ever got a kingfisher’s nest out perfect, 
and that the British Museum, or the Government, or 
somebody, had offered 4100 to any one who could bring 
them a nest and eggs not damaged. In the middle of 
this astounding announcement, to which the others were 
listening with open ears, and already considering the ap- 
plication of the #100, a knock came to the door, and 
East’s voice was heard craving admittance. 

“There’s Harry,” said Tom; “ we'll let him in--Pll 
keep him steady, Martin, I thought the old boy would 
smell out the supper.” 

The fact was that Tom’s heart had already smitten 
him for not asking his “ fidus Achates ” to the feast, and 
though only an extempore affair, and though prudence 
and the desire to get Martin and Arthur together alone 
at first had overcome his scruples, he was now heartily 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS, 289 


glad to open the door, broach another bottle of beer, and 
hand over the old ham-knuckle to the searching of his 
old friend’s pocket-knife. 

“ Ah, you greedy vagabonds,” said East, with a mouth 
full, “I knew there was something going on when I saw 
you cut off out of hall so quick with your suppers. 
What a stunning tap, Tom! you are a wunner for bot- 
tling the swipes.”’ 

“T’ve had practice enough for the sixth in my time, 
and it’s hard if I haven’t picked up a wrinkle or two for 
my own benefit.” 

“Well, old Madman, and how goes the birds’-nesting 
campaign? How’s Howlett? I expect the young rooks 
‘ll be out in another fortnight, and then my turn comes.” 

“ There'll be no young rooks fit for pies for a month 
yet ; shows how much you know about it,” rejoined Mar- 
tin, who, though very good friends with East, regarded 
him with considerable suspicion for his propensity to 
practical jokes. 

“Scud knows nothing and cares for nothing but grub 
and mischief,” said Tom; “ but young rook pie, especially 
when you've had to climb for them, is very pretty eating. 
However, I say, Scud, we're all going after a hawk’s nest 
to-morrow, in Caldecott’s Spinney ; and if you'll come 
and behave yourself, we'll have a stunning climb.” 

“And a bathe in Aganippe. Hooray! Im your 
man.” 

“No, no; no bathing in Aganippe ; that’s where our 
betters go.” 


290 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


‘Well, well, never mind. I’m for the hawk’s nest 
and anything that turns up.” 

And the bottled beer being finished, and his hunger 
appeased, East departed to his study, “ that sneak Jones,” 
as he informed them, who had just got into the sixth and 
occupied the next study, having instituted a nightly visi- 
tation upon East and his chum, to their no small discom- 
fort. 3 

When he was gone, Martin rose to follow, but Tom 
stopped him. “Noone goes near New Row,” said he, 
“so you may just as well stop here and do your verses, 
and then we'll have some more talk. We'll be no end 
quiet; besides, no prapostor comes here now — we 
haven’t been visited once this half.” 3 

So the table was: cleared, the cloth restored, and the 
three fei] to work with Gradus and dictionary upon the 
morning’s vulgus. 

They were three very fair examples of the way in 
which such tasks were done at Rugby, in the consulship 
of Plancus. And doubtless the method is little changed, 
for there is nothing new under the sun, especially at 
schools. 

Now be it known unto all you boyswho are at schools 
which do not rejoice in the time-honored institution of 
the Vulgus (commonly supposed to have been established 
by William of Wykeham at Winchester, and imported to 
Rugby by Arnold, more for the sake of the lines which 
were learned by heart with it, than for its own intrinsic 
value, as I’ve always understood), that it is a short ex- 


~~ 


TOM BROWWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 291 


ercise, in Greek or Latin verse, on a given subject, the 
minimum number of lines being fixed for each form. The 
master of the form gave out at fourth lesson on the pre- 
vious day the subject for next morning’s vulgus, and at 
first lesson each boy had to bring his vulgus ready to be 
looked over; and with the vulgus, a certain number of 
lines from one of the Latin or Greek poets then being 
construed in the form had to be got by heart. The 
master at first lesson called up each boy in the form in 
order, and put him on in the lines. If he couldn’t say 
them, or seem to say them, by reading them off the mas- 
ter’s or some other boy’s book who stood near, he was 
sent back, and went below all the boys who did so say 
or seem to say them ; but in either case his vulgus was 
looked over by the master, who gave and entered in his 
book, to the credit or discredit of the boy, so many marks 
as the composition merited. At Rugby vulgus and lines 
were the first lesson every other day in the week, or 
Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays ; and as there were 
thirty-eight weeks in the school year, it is obvious to the 
meanest capacity that the master of each form had to set 
one hundred and fourteen subjects every year, two 
hundred and twenty-eight every two years, and so on. 
Now to persons of moderate invention this was a con- 
siderable task, and human nature being prone to repeat 
itself, it will not be wondered that the masters gave the 
same subject sometimes over again after a certain lapse 
of time. Tomeet and rebuke this bad habit of the mas- 
ters, the school boy mind, with its unaccustomed ingenu- 


292 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS 


ity, had invented an elaborate system of tradition, Almost 
every boy kept his own vulgus written out in a book, and 
these books were duly handed down from boy to boy, till 
(if the tradition has gone on till now) I suppose the pop- 
ular boys, in whose hands bequeathed vulgus-books have 
accumulated, are prepared with three or four vulguses on 
any subject in heaven or earth, or in “ more worlds than 
one,” which an unfortunate master can pitch upon. At 
any rate, such lucky fellows had generally one for them- 
selves and one for a friend in my time. The only ob- 
jection to the traditionary method of doing your vulguses 
was, the risk that the successions might have become 
confused, and so that you and another follower of tradi- 
tions should show up the same identical vulgus some fine 
morning ; in which case, when it happened, considerable 
erief was the result ; but when did such risks hinder boys 
or men from short cuts and pleasant paths? 

Now, in the study that night, Tom was the upholder 
of the traditionary method of vulgus doing. He care- 
fully produced two large vulgus-books, and began diving 
into them, and picking out a line here, and an ending 
there (tags, as they were vulgarly called), till he had got- 
ten all that he thought he could make fit. He then pro- 
ceeded to patch his tags together with the help of his 
Gradus, producing an incongruous and feeble result of 
eight elegiac lines, the minimum quantity for his form, and 
finishing up with two highly moral lines extra, making 
ten in all, which he cribbed entire from one of his books 
beginning “O genus humanum,” and which he himself 


TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DAYS. 293 


must have used a dozen times before, whenever an un- 
fortunate or wicked hero, of whatever nation or language 
under the sun, was the subject. Indeed he began to 
have great doubts whether the master wouldn’t remem- 
ber them, and so only threw them in as extra lines, be 
cause in any case they would call off attention from the 
other tags, and if detected, being extra lines, he wouldn't 
be sent back to two do more in their place, while if they 
passed muster again, he would get marks for them. 

The second method, pursued by Martin, may be called 
the dogged or prosaic method. Neither he nor Tom 
took any pleasure in the task, but having no vulgus- 
books of his own, or any one else’s, he could not follow 
the traditionary method, for which, too, as Tom re- 
marked, he hadn’t the genius. Martin then proceeded 
to write down eight lines in English, of the most matter- 
of-fact-kind, the first that came into his head, and to 
convert these, line by line, by main force of Gradus and 
dictionary, into Latin that would scan. This was all he 
cared for, to produce eight lines with no false quantities 
or concords; whether the words were apt, or what the 
sense was, mattered nothing; and, as the figures were 
all new, not a line beyond the minimum did the followers 
of the dogged method ever produce. 

The third or artistic method was Arthur’s, He con- 
sidered first what point in the character or event which 
was the subject could most neatly be brought out within 
the limits of a vulgus, trying always to get his idea into 
the eight lines, but not binding himself to ten or even 


294 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


twelve lines if he couldn’t do this. He then set to 
work, as much as possible without Gradus or other help, 
to clothe his idea in appropriate Latin or Greek, and 
would not be satisfied till he had polished it well up 
with the aptest and most poetic words and phrases he 
could get at. ‘ 

A fourth method, indeed, was used in the school, but 
of too simple a kind to require a comment. It may be 
called the vicarious method, obtained amongst big boys 
of lazy or bullying habits, and consisted simply in mak- 
ing clever boys whom they could thrash do their whole 
vulgus for them, and construe it to them afterwards, 
which latter is a method not to be encouraged, and 
which I strongiy advise you all not to practice)" Of the 
others, you will find the traditionary most troublesome, 
unless you can steal your vulguses whole (experto crede), 
and that the artistic method pays the best, both in 
marks and other ways. 

The vulguses being finished by nine o'clock, and 
Martin having rejoiced above measure in the abundance 
of light, and of Gradus and dictionary, and other con- 
veniences almost unknown to him for getting through 
the work, and having been pressed by Arthur to come 
and do his verses there whenever he liked, the three 
boys went down to Martin’s den, and Arthur was initi- 
ated into the lore of birds’ eggs, to his great delight. 
The exquisite coloring and forms astonished and 
charmed him who had scarcely ever seen any but a 
hen’s egg or an ostrich’s, and by the time he was lugged 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS. 298 
away to bed he had learned the names of at least twenty 
sorts, and dreamt of the glorious perils of tree-climbing, 
and he had found a roc’s egg on the island as big as 
Sinbad’s, and clouded like a titlark’s, in blowing which 
Martin and he had nearly been drowned in the yolk. 


296 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE BIRD-FANCIERS. 


“7 have found out a gift for my fair, 
I have found where the wood-pigeons breed: 
But let me the plunder forbear, 
She would say ’twas a barbarous deed.’”’—Rowrk. 


** And now, my lad, take them five shilling, 
And on my advice in future think ; 
So Billy pouched them all so willing, 
And got that night disguised in drink.””—S. Ballad. 


THE next morning at first lesson Tom was turned 
back in his lines, and so had to wait till the second 
round, while Martin and Arthur said theirs all right and 
got out of school at once. When Tom got out and ran 
down to breakfast at Harrowell’s, they were missing, 
and Stumps informed him that they had swallowed down 
their breakfast and gone off together, where, he couldn’t 
say. Tom hurried over his own breakfast, and went 
first to Martin’s study and then to his own, but no signs 
of the missing boys were to be found. He felt half 
angry and jealous of Martin—where could they be gone? 

He learned second lesson with East and the rest in 
no very good temper, and then went out into the quad- 
rangle. About ten minutes before school Martin and 
Arthur arrived in the quadrangle breathless ; and, 
catching sight of him, Arthur rushed up all excitement 
and with a bright glow on his face. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 294 


“Oh, Tom, look here,” cried he, holding out three 
moor-hen’s eggs ; “we've been down the Barby road to 
the pool Martin told us of last night, and just see what 
we've got.” 

Tom wouldn’t be pleased, and only looked out for 
something to find fault with. 

“Why, young’un,” said he, “what have you been 
after? You don’t mean to say you've been wading He 

The tone of reproach made poor little Arthur shrink 
up in a moment and look piteous, and Tom with a shrug 
of his shoulders turned his anger on Martin. 

“Well, I didn’t think, Madman, that you’d have been 
such a muff as to let him be getting wet through at this 
time of day. You might have done the wading your- 
self.” 

“So I did, of course, only he would come in too to 
see the nest. We left six eggs in; they'll be hatched 
in a day or two.” 

“Hang the eggs!” said Tom; “a fellow can’t turn 
his back for a moment but all his work’s undone. 
He'll be laid up for a week for this precious lark, I'll be 
bound.” 

‘Indeed, Tom, now,” pleaded Arthur, “ my feet ain’t 
wet, for Martin made me take off my shoes and stock- 
ings and trousers.” 

“But they are wet, and dirty too—can’t I see?” an- 
swered Tom ; “and you'll be called up and floored when 
the master sees what a state you’re in. You haven't 
looked at second lesson, you know.” Oh, Tom, you old 


298 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 

humbug! you to be upbraiding any one with not learn- 
ing his lessons. If you hadn't been floored yourself now 
at first lesson, do you mean to say you wouldn’t have been 
with them ? and you've taken away all poor little Arthurs 
joy and pride in his first birds’ eggs, and he goes and 
puts them down in the study, and takes down his books 
with a sigh, thinking he has done something horribly 
wrong, whereas he has learned on in advance much more 
than will be done at second lesson. 

But the old Madman hasn't, and gets called up and 
makes some frightful shots, losing about ten places, and 
all but getting floored. This somewhat appeases Tom’s 
wrath, and by the end of the lesson he has regained his 
temper. And afterwards in their study he begins to get 
right again, as he watches Arthur’s intense joy at seeing 
Martin blowing the eggs and gluing them carefully on to 
bits of cardboard, and notes the anxious loving looks 
which the little fellow casts sidelong at him. And then 
he thinks, “ What an ill-tempered beast Iam! Here’s 
just what I was wishing for last night come about, and 
I’m spoiling it all,” and in another five minutes has 
swallowed the last mouthful of his bile, and is repaid by 
seeing his little sensitive plant expand again, and sun 
himself in his smiles. 

After dinner the Madman is busy with the prepara- 
tions for their expedition, fitting new straps on to his 
climbing-irons, filling large pill-boxes with cotton wool, 
and sharpening East’s small axe. They carry all their 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 299 


munitions into calling-over, and directly afterwards, hav- 
ing dodged such prepostors as are on the look-out for 
fags at cricket, the four set off at a smart trot down the 
Lawford footpath straight for Caldecott’s Spinney and 
the hawk’s nest. 

Martin leads the way in high feather; it is quite a 
new sensation to him getting companions, and he finds 
it very pleasant, and means to show them all manner of 
proofs of his science and skill. Brown and East may be 
better at cricket and foot-ball and games, thinks he, but 
out in the fields and woods see if I can’t teach them 
‘something. He has taken the leadership already, and 
strides away in front with his climbing-irons strapped 
under one arm, his pecking-bag under the other, and his 
pockets and hat full of pill-boxes, cotton-wool, and other 
etceteras. Each of the others carries a pecking-bag, and 
East his hatchet. 

When they had crossed three or four fields without 
a check, Arthur began to lag, and Tom, seeing this, 
shouted to Martin to pull up a bit: ‘“‘ We ain’t out Hare- 
and-hounds — what’s the good of grinding on at this 
rate. 

“ There’s the spinney,” said Martin, pulling up on the 
brow of a slope at the bottom of which lay Lawford 
brook, and pointing to the top of the opposite slope ; 
“the nest is in one of those high fir-trees at this end. 
And down by the brook there, I know of a sedge-bird’s 
nest ; we'll go and look at it coming back.” 


300 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


“Oh, come on, don’t let us stop,” said Arthur, who 
was getting excited at the sight of the wood; so they 
broke into a trot again, and were soon across the brook, 
up the slope, and into the spinney. Here they advanced 
as noiselessly as possible, lest keepers or other enemies 
should be about, and stopped at the foot of a tall fir, at 
the top of which Martin pointed out with pride the kes- 
trel’s nest, the object of theirsquest. 

“Oh where? which is it?” asks Arthur, gaping up 
in the air, and having the most vague idea of what it 
would be like. 

“There, don’t you see?” said East, pointing to a 
lump of mistletoe in the next tree, which was a beech. 
He saw that Martin and Tom were busy with the climb-. 
‘ing-irons, and couldn’t resist the temptation of hoaxing. 
Arthur stared’ and wondered more than ever. 

“ Well, hov’ curious! it doesn’t look a bit like what 
I expected,” said he. 

“Very odd birds, kestrels,” said East, looking wag- 
gishly at his victim, who was still star-gazing. 

« But I thought it was in a fir-tree?” objected Arthur. 

« Ah, don’t you know? that’s a new sort of fir which 
old Caldecott brought from the Himalayas.” 

“Really!” said Arthur; “I’m glad I know that— 
how unlike our firs they are! They do very well too 
here, don’t they ? the spinney’s full of them.” 

“ What’s that humbug he’s telling you?” cried Tom, 
looking up, having caught the word Himalayas, and sus- 
pecting what East was after. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 301 


“ Only about this fir,” said Arthur, putting his hand 
on the stem of the beech. 

“Fir!” shouted Tom; “ why, you don’t mean to say, 
young ’un, you don’t know a beech when you see one ?” 

Poor little Arthur looked terribly ashamed, and East 
exploded in laughter which made the wood ring. ; 

“ T’ve hardly ever seen any trees,” faltered Arthur. 


“ What a shame to hoax him, Scud!” cried Martin. 
“Never mind, Arthur, you shall know more about trees 
than he does in a week or two.” 

“And isn’t that the kestrel’s nest, then?” asked 
Arthur. 

“That! why, that’s a piece of mistletoe. There’s the 
nest, that lump of sticks up this fir.” | 

“Don’t believe him, Arthur,” struck in the incorrig- 
ible East; “I just saw an old magpie go out of it.” 

Martin did not deign to reply to this sally, except by 
a grunt, as he buckled the last buckle of his climbing- 
irons, and Arthur looked reproachfully at East without 
speaking. 

But now came the tug of war. It wasa very difficult 
tree to climb until the branches were reached, the first 
of which was some fourteen feet up, for the trunk was 
too large at the bottom to be swarmed ; in fact, neither 
of the boys could reach more than half round it with 
their arms. Martin and Tom, both of whom had irons 
on, tried it without success at first; the fir bark broke 
away where they stuck the irons in it, as soon as they 


302 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


~ 


leant any weight on their feet, and the grip of their 
arms wasn’t enough to keep them up; so, after getting 
up three or four feet, down they came slithering to the 
ground, barking their arms and faces. They were furi- 
ous, and East sat by Jaughing and shouting at each fail- 
ure, “ Two to one on the old magpie!” 

‘We must try a pyramid,” said Tomat last. ‘“ Now, 
Scud, you lazy rascal, stick yourself against the tree!” 

“I dare say ! and have you standing on my shoulders 
with the irons on; what do you think my skin’s made 
of?” However, up he got, and leant against the tree, 
putting his head down, and clasping it with his arms as 
far ashe could. ‘ Nowthen, Madman,” said Tom, “you 
next: ae : 

“No, I’m lighter than you; you go next.’ So Tom 
got on East’s shoulders, and grasped the tree above, and 
then Martin scrambled up on Tom’s shoulders, amidst 
the totterings and groanings of the pyramid, and, with a 
spring which sent his supporters howling to the ground, 
clasped the stem some ten feet up, and remained cling- 
ing. For a moment or two they thought he couldn't get 
up, but then, holding on with arms and teeth, he worked 
first one iron, then the other, firmly into the bark, got 
another grip with his arms, and in another minute had 
hold of the lowest branch. 

“ All up with the magpie now,” said East; and, after 
a minute’s rest, up went Martin, hand over hand, watched 
by Arthur with fearful eagerness. 

“Isn't it very dangerous ?” said he. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 303 


“ Not a bit,” answered Tom ; “ you can’t hurt if you 
only get good hand-hold. Try every branch with a good 
pull before you trust it, and then up you go.” 

Martin was now amongst the small branches close to 
the nest, and away dashed the old bird, and soared up 
above the trees, watching the intruder. 

“ All right—four eggs!” shouted he. 

“Take ‘em all!” shouted East;. “that'll be one 
aplece.. 

“No, no! leave one, and then she won't care,’ said 
Tom. 

We boys had an idea that birds couldn’t count, and 
were quite content as long as you left one egg. I hope 
it is So. 

Martin carefully put one egg into each of his boxes 
and the third into his mouth, the only place of safety, and 
came down likealamp-lighter. All went well till he was 
within ten feet of the ground, when, as the trunk enlarged, 
his hold got less and less firm, and at last down he came 
with a run, tumbling on to his backon the turf, splutter- 
ing and spitting out the remains of the great egg, which 
had broken by the jar of his fall. 

“Ugh, ugh! something to drink—ugh! it was ad- 
dled,” spluttered he, while the wood rang again with the 
merry laughter ot East and Tom. 

Then they examined the prizes, gathered up their 
things, and went off to the brook, where Martin swal- 
lowed huge draughts of water to get rid of the taste ; 
and they visited the sedge-bird’s nest, and from thence 


304 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


struck across the country in high glee, beating the 
hedges and brakes as they went along ; and Arthur at last, 
to his intense delight, was allowed to climb a small 
nedgerow for a magpie’s nest with Tom, who kept all 
around him like a mother, and showed him where to hold 
and how to throw his weight ; and though he was ina 
great fright, didn’t show it; and was applauded by all 
for his lissomness, 

They crossed a road soon afterwards, and there close 
to them lay a heap of charming pebbles. 

“ Look here,” shouted East, “here’s luck! I’ve been 
Jonging for some good honest pecking this half hour. 
Let's fill the bags, and have no more of this foozling 
‘bird’s-nesting.” | 

No one objected, so each boy filled the fustian bag 
he carried full of stones. They crossed into the next 
field, Tom and East taking one side of the hedges, and 
the other two the other side. Noise enough they made 
certainly, but it was too early in the season for the 
young birds, and the old birds were too strong on the 
wing for our young marksmen, and flew out of shot 
after the first discharge. But it was great fun rushing 
along the hedgerows, and discharging stone after stone 
at blackbirds and chaffinches, though no result in the 
shape of slaughtered birds was obtained ; and Arthur 
soon entered into it, and rushed to head back the birds, 
and tumbled into ditches and over and through hedges, 
as wild as the Madman himself. 


TOM BROWWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 305 


Presently the party, in full cry after an old blackbird 
(who was evidently used to the thing and enjoyed the 
fun, for he would wait till they came close to him and 
then fly on for forty yards or so, and, with an impudent 
flicker of his tail, dart into the depths of the quickset), 
came beating down a high double hedge, two on each 
side. 

“There he is»again;’ ‘“Head him,“ Let drive;>.“1 
had him there, “ Take care where you’re throwing, Mad- 
man ;” the shouts might have been heard a quarter ofa 
mile off. They were heard some two hundred yards off 
by a farmer and two of his shepherds, who were doctor- 
ing sheep ina fold in the next field. 

Now, the farmer in question rented a houseand yard 
situate at the end of the field in which the young bird- 
fanciers had arrived, which house and yard he didn’t 
occupy or keep any one else in. Nevertheless, like a 
brainless and unreasoning Briton, he persisted in main- 
taining on the premises a large stock of cocks, hens and 
other poultry. Of course, all sorts of depredators visited 
the place from time to time: foxes and gypsies wrought 
havoc in the night, while in the day time, I regret to have 
to confess that visits from the Rugby boys, and conse- 
quent disappearances of ancient and respectable fowls, 
were not unfrequent. Tom and East had during the 
period of their outlawry visited the barn in question for 
felonious purposes, and on one occasion had conquered 


and slain a duck there, and borne away the carcase tri- 
20 


306 TOM BROWWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


umphantly, hidden in their handkerchiefs. However, 
they were sickened of the practice by the trouble and 
anxiety which the wretched duck’s body caused them. 
They carried it to Sally Harrowell’s, in hopes of a good 
supper ; but she, after examining it, made a long face, 
and refused to dress or have anything to do with it. 
Then they took it into their study, and began plucking 
it themselves ; but what to do with the feathers where 
to hide them ? 

“Good gracious, Tom, what a lot of feathers a duck 
has!” groaned East, holding a vag full in his hand, and 
looking disconsolately at the carcase, not yet half 
plucked. 

“T do think he’s getting high too, already,” said Tom, 
smelling at him cautiously, “so we must finish him up 
soon.” 

“Yes, all very well, but how are we to cook him? 
I’m sure I ain't going to try it on in the hall or passages ; 
we can’t afford to be roasting ducks about, our character’s 
too bad.” 

“T wish we were rid of the brute,” said Tom, throw- 
ing him on the table in disgust. And after a day or two 
more it became clear that got rid of he must be; so 
they packed him and sealed him up in brown paper, and 
pat him in the cupboard of an unoccupied study, where 
he was found in the holidays by the matron, a grewsome 
body. 

They had never been duck-hunting there since, but 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 307 


others had, and the bold yoeman was very sore on the 
subject, and bent on making an example of the first boys 
he could catch. So he and his shepherds crouched be- 
hind the hurdles, and watched the party who were ap- 
proaching all unconscious. 

Why should that old guinea-fowl be lying out in the 
hedge just at this particular moment of all the year? 
~ Who can say? Guinea-fowls always are—so are all other 
things, animals and persons—requisite for getting one 
into scrapes, always ready when any mischief can come 
of them. At any rate, just under East’s nose popped 
out the old guinea-hen, scuttling along and shrieking 
“Come back, come back,” at the top of her voice. 
Either of the other three might perhaps have withstood 
the temptation, but East first lets drive the stone he has 
in his hand at her, and then rushes to turn her into the 
hedge again. He succeeds, and then they are all at it 
for dear life, up and down the hedge in full cry, the 
“ Come back, come back,” getting shriller and fainter 
every minute. 

Meantime, the farmer and his men steal over the 
hurdles and creep down the hedge towards the scene of 
action. They are almost within a stone’s throw of Mar- 
tin, who is pressing the unlucky chase hard, when Tom 
catches sight of them, and sings out, “ Louts, ’ware louts, 
-your side! Madman, look ahead!” and then catching 
hold of Arthur, hurries him away across the field towards 
Rugby as hard as they can tear. Had he been by him- 


308 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


self, he would have stayed to see it out with the others, 
but now his heart sinks and all his pluck goes. The 
idea of being led up to the Doctor with Arthur for bag- 
ging fowls quite unmans and takes half the run -out of 
him. . 

However, no boys were more able to take care of 
themselves than East and Martin; they dodge the pur- 
suers, slip through a gap, and come pelting after Tom 
and Arthur, whom they catch up in no time; the farmer 
and his men are making good running about a field be- 
hind. Tom wishes to himself that he had made off in 
any other direction, but now they are all in for it to- 
gether, and must see it out. ‘“ You won't leave the young 
‘un, will you?” says he, as they haul poor little Arthur, 
already losing wind from the fright, through the next 
hedge. “Not we,” is the answer from both. The next 
hedge is a stiff one; the pursuers gain horribly on them, 
and they only just pull Arthur through, with two great 
rents in his trousers, as the foremost shepherd comes up 
on the other side. As they start into the next field, they 
are aware of two figures walking down the footpath in 
the middle of it, and recognize Holmes and Diggs taking 
a constitutional. Those good-natured fellows immedi- 
ajely shout, “On.” “Lets go to them and surrender,” 
pants Tom.—Agreed. And in another minute the four 
boys, to the great astonishment of those worthies, rush 
breathless up to Holmes and Diggs, who pull up to see 


what is the matter ; and then the whole is explained by 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 309 


the appearance of the farmer and his men, who unite 
their forces and bear down on the knot of boys. 

There is no time to explain, and Tom’s heart beats 
frightfully quick as he ponders, “ Will they stand by 
us 2” 

The farmer makes a rush at East and collars him, and 
that young gentleman, with unusual discretion, instead 
of kicking his shins, looks appealingly at Holmes, and 
stands still. 

“ Hullo there, not so fast,” says Holmes, who is bound 
to stand up for them till they are proved in the wrong. 
“ Now, what’s all this about?” 

“Tve got the young varmint at last, have I ?”’ pants 
the farmer ; “why, they’ve been a-skulking about my 
yard and stealing my fowls: that’s where ’tis; and if I 
doan’t have they flogged for it, every one on ’em, my 
name ain’t Thompson.” 

Holmes looks grave, and Diggs’ face falls. They are 
quite ready to fight—no boys in the school more so ; but 
they are prapostors, and understand their office, and 
can’t uphold unrighteous causes. 

“T haven’t been near his old barn this half,” cries 
East. “Nor I,” “Nor I,” chime in Tom and Martin. 

“Now, Willum, didn’t you see ’em there last 
week ?” 

“ Ees, I seen ’em sure enough,” says Willum, grasp- 
ing a prong he carried, and preparing for action. 

The boys deny stoutly, and Willum is driven to ad- 
mit that, “if it worn’t they, ’twas chaps as like ’em as 


310 TOM BROWN’S. SCHOOL-DA YS 


two peas’n ;” and “ leastways he'll swear he see’d them 
two in the yard last Martinmas” (indicating East and 
Tom). | | 
Holmes has had time to meditate. “Now, sir,” says 
he to Willum, “ you see you can’t remember what you 
have seen, and I believe the boys.” 

“J doan't care,” blusters the farmer ; “ they was arter 
my fowls to-day—that’s enough for I. Willum, you | 
catch hold o’ t'other chap. Thev’ve been a-sneaking 
about this two hours, I tells ee,” shouted he, as Holmes 
stands between Martin and Willum, “and have druv a 
matter of a dozen young pullets pretty nigh to death.” 

“Oh, there’s a whacker!”’ cried East; “we haven't 
been within a hundred yards of his barn; we haven't 
been up here above ten mimutes, and we've seen nothing 
but a tough old guinea-hen, who ran like a greyhound.” 

“ Indeed, that’s all true, Holmes, upon my honor,’ 
added Tom ; “ we weren’t after his fowls ; guinea-hen ran 
out of the hedge under our feet, and we've seen nothing 
isan: | 

“Drat their talk. Thee catch hold o’ t’other, Willum, 
and come along wi’ ’un.” 

“Farmer Thompson,” said Holmes, warning off 
Willum and the prong with his stick, while Diggs faced 
the other shepherd, cracking his fingers like pistol-shots, 
“now listen to reason—the boys haven’t been after your 
fowls—that’s plain.” 

“Tells ’ee I seed’em. Who be you, I should like to 
know ?” 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 311 


“Never you mind, Farmer,’ answered Holmes. 
“ And now [’ll just tell you what it is —you ought to be 
ashamed of yourself for leaving all that poultry about, 
with no one to watch it, so near the school. You 
deserve to have it all stolen. So if you choose to come 
up to the Doctor with them, I shall go with you, and tell 
him what I think of it.” 

The farmer began to take Holmes for a master; be- 
sides, he wanted to get back to his flock. Corporal 
punishment was out of the question—the odds were too 
great; so he began to hint at paying for the damage. 
Arthur jumped at this, offering to pay anything, and the 
farmer immediately valued the guinea-hen at half-a- 
sovereign. | 

“ Half-a-sovereign!” cried East, now released from 
the farmer’s grip; “ well, that is a good one! the old 
hen ain’t hurt a bit, and she’s seven years old, I know, 
and as tough as whipcord ; she could'nt lay another egg 
to save her life.” 

It was at last settled that they should pay the farmer 
two shillings, and his man one shilling, and so the matter 
ended, to the unspeakable relief of Tom, who hadn't 
been able to say a word, being sick at heart at the idea 
of what the Doctor would think of him; and now the 
whole party of boys marched off down the footpath 
towards Rugby. Holmes, who was one of the best boys 
in the school, began to improve the occasion. ‘“ Now, 


ou youngsters,” said he, as he marched along in the 
2D , 


312 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


middle of them, “mind this; you’re very well out of this 
scrape. Don’t you go near Thompson’s barn again, do 
you hear?” 
Profuse promises from all, especially East. 
“Mind, I don’t ask questions,” went on Mentor, “ but 
I rather think some of you have been there before this 
after his chickens. Now, knocking over other people’s 
chickens, and running off with them, is stealing. It’s a 
nasty word, but that’s the plain English of it. If the 
chickens were dead and lying in a shop, you wouldn't 
take them, I know that, any more than you would apples 
out of Griffith's basket; but there’s no real difference 
between chickens running about and apples on a tree 
and the same articles in a shop. I wish our morals 
were sounder in such matters. There’s nothing so mis- 
chievous as these school distinctions, which jumble up 
.tight and wrong, and justify things in us for which poor 
boys would be sent to prison.” And good old Holmes 
delivered his soul on the walk home of many wise say- 


ings, and, as the song says— 
“ Gee’d ’em a sight of good advice 

which same sermon sank inte them all more or less, and 
very penitent they were for several hours. But truth 
compels me to admit that East at any rate forgot it all 
in a week, but remembered the insult which had been 
put upon him by Farmer Thompson, and with the Tad: 
pole and other hair-brained youngsters, committed a 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 313 


raid on the barn soon afterwards, in which they were 
caught by the shepherds and severely handled, besides 
having to pay eight shillings, all the money they had 
in the world, to escape being taken up to the Doctor. 

Martin became a constant inmate in the joint study 
from this time, and Arthur took to him so kindly that 
Tom couldn’t resist slight fits of jealousy, which how- 
ever he managed to keep to himself. The kestrel’s 
eggs had not been broken, strange to say, and formed 
the nucleus of Arthur’s collection, at which Martin 
worked heart and soul; he introduced Arthur to How- 
lett the bird-fancier, and instructed him in the rudi- 
ments of the art of stuffing. In token of his gratitude, 
Arthur allowed Martin to tattoo a small anchor on one of 
his wrists, which decoration, however, he carefully con 
cealed from Tom. Before the end of the half year he 
had trained into a bold climber and good runner, and, as 
Martin had foretold, knew twice as much about trees, 
birds, flowers and many other things, as our good-hearted 
and facetious young friend Harry East. 


314 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


CHAPTER N: 


THE FIGHT. 


‘*Surgebat Macnevisius 
Et mox jactabat ultro, 
Pugnabo tua gratia 
Feroci hoc Mactwoltro.””—Ztonian. 


THERE is a certain sort of fellow—we who are used 
to studying boys all know him well enough—of whom 
you can predicate with almost positive certainty, after 
he has been a month at school, that-he is sure to have a 
fight, and with almost equal certainty that he will have 
but one. Tom Brown was one of these; and as it is 
our well-weighed intention to give a full, true and cor- 
rect account of Tom’s only single combat with a school- 
fellow in the manner of our old friend Bell’s Life, let 
those young persons whose stomachs are not strong, or 
who think a good set-to with the weapons which God 
has given us all an uncivilized, unchristian, or ungentle- 
manly affair, just skip this chapter at once, for it won't 
be to their taste. 

It was not at all usua. in those days for two school- 
house boys to have a fight. Of course there were 
exceptions, when some cross-grained, hard-headed fellow 
came up who would never be happy unless he was quar- 
relling with his nearest neighbors. or when there was 
some class dispute, between the fifth-form and the fags, 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. — 318 


for instance, which required blood-letting ; and a cham- 
pion was picked out on each side tacitly, who settled 
the matter by a good hearty mill. But for the most 
part, the constant use of those surest keepers of the 
peace, the boxing-gloves, kept the school-house boys 
from fighting one another. Two or three nights in 
every week the gloves were brought out, either in the 
hall or fifth-form room; and every boy who was ever 
likely to fight at all knew all his neighbors’ prowess 
perfectly well, and could tell to a nicety what chance he 
would have in a stand-up fight with any other boy in 
the house. But of course no such experience could be 
gotten as regarded boys in other houses; and as most 
of the other houses were more or less jealous of the 
school-house, collisions were frequent. 

After all, what would life be without fighting, I 
should like to know? From the cradle to the grave, 
fighting, rightly understood, is the business, the real, 
highest, honestest business, of everyson of man. Every 
one who is worth his salt has his enemies, who must be 
beaten, be they evil thoughts and habits in himself or 
spiritual wickednesses in high places, or Russians, or 
Border-ruffians, or Bill, Tom or Harry who will not let 
him live his life in quiet till he has thrashed them. 

It is no good for Quakers, or any other body of men, 
to uplift their voices against fighting. Human natureis 
too strong for them, and they don’t follow their own pre- 
cepts. Every soul of them is doing ‘his own piece of 
fighting, somehow and somewhere. The world might be 


316 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


a better world without fighting, for anything I know, but 
it wouldn’t be our world ; and therefore I am dead 
against crying peace when there is no peace, and isn’t 
meant to be. I am as sorry as any man to see folk fight- 
ing the wrong people and the wrong things, but ’'da 
deal sooner see them doing that than that they should 
have no fight in them. So having recorded, and being 
about to record, my hero’s fights of all sorts, with all 
sorts of enemies, I shall now proceed to give an account 
of his passage-at-arms with the only one of his school- 
fellows whom he ever had to encounter in this manner. 

It was drawing towards the close of Arthur's first 
half-year, and the May evenings were lengthening out. 
Locking-up was not till eight o'clock, and everybody was 
beginning to talk about what he would do in the holi- 
days. The shell, in which form all our dramatis persone 
now are, were reading amongst other things the last book 
of Homer’s Iliad, and had worked through it as far as the 
speeches of the: women over Hector’s body. It is a 
whole school-day, and four or five of the school-house 
boys (amongst whom are Arthur, Tom, and East) are 
preparing third lesson together. They have finished the 
regulation forty lines, and are for the most part getting 
very tired, notwithstanding the exquisite pathos of 
Helen’s lamentation. And now several long four-syl- 
labled words come together, and the boy with the dic- 
tionary strikes work. . 

“Tam not going to look out any more words,” says: 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 317 


he; “we've done the quantity. Ten to one we sha'n't 
get so far. Let’s go out into the close.” 

“Come along, boys,” cries East, always ready to leave 
the grind, as he called it ; “ our old coach is laid up, you 
know, and we shall have one of the new masters, who's 
sure to go slow and let us down easy.” 

So an adjournment to the close was carried ez. con., 
little Arthur not daring to uplift his voice, but, being 
deeply interested in what they were reading, stayed 
quietly behind, and learned on for his own pleasure. 

As East had said, the regular master of the form was 
unwell, and they were to be heard by one of the new 
masters, quite a young man, who had only just left the 
University. Certainly it would be hard lines if, by 
dawdling as much as possible in coming in and taking 
their places, entering into long-winded explanations of 
what was the usual course of the regular master of the 
form, and others of the stock contrivances of boys for 
wasting time in school, they could not spin out the les- 
son so that he should not work them through more than 
the forty lines ; as to which quantity there was a per- 
petual fight going on between the master and his form, 
the latter insisting, and enforcing by passive resistance, 
that it was the prescribed quantity of Homer for a shell 
lesson, the former that there was no fixed quantity, but 
they must always be ready to go on to fifty or sixty lines 
if there were time within the hour. However, notwith- 


standing all their efforts, the new master got on horribly 


aT 8 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


quick; he seemed to have the bad taste to be really in- 
terested in the lesson, and to be trying to work them up 
into something like appreciation of it, giving them good 
spirited English words, instead of the wretched bald stuff 
into which they rendered poor old Homer, and constru- 
ing over each piece himself to them, after each boy, to 
show them how it should be done. 

Now the clock strikes the three-quarters ; there is 
only a quarter of an hour more; but the forty lines are 
all but done. So the boys, one after another, who are 
called up, stick more and more, and make balder and 
ever more bald work of it. The poor young master was 
pretty nearly beaten by this time, and feels ready to 
knock his head against the wall, or his fingers against 
somebody else’s head. So he gives up altogether the 
lower and middle parts of the form, and looks round in 
despair at the boys on the top bench, to see if there is 
one out of whom he can strike a spark or two, and who 
will be too chivalrous to murder the most beautiful ut- 
terances of the most beautiful woman of the old world. 
His eye rests on Arthur, and he calls him up to finish 
construing Helen’s speech. Whereupon all the other 
boys draw long breaths, and begin to stare about and 
take it easy. They are all safe; Arthur is the head of 
the form, and sure to be able to construe, and that will 
tide on safely till the hour strikes. 

Arthur proceeds to read out the passage in Greek 
before construing it, as the custom is. Tom, who isn’t 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 319 


paying much attention, is suddenly caught by the falter 
in his voice as he reads the two lines— 

Gdha ob tév 7 exgeaot napatydpevos xatéouxes, 

27 Tv dyavogpoabyy xai ovis dyovois exéecow, 
He looks up at Arthur. “ Why, bless us,” thinks he 
“what can be the matter with the young’un? He’s 
never going to get floored. He’s sure to have learned 
to the end.” Next moment he is reassured by the spirited 
tone in which Arthur begins construing, and betakes 
himself to drawing dogs’ heads in his note-book, while 
the master, evidently enjoying the change, turns his 
back on the middle bench and stands before Arthur 
beating a sort of time with hand and foot, and saying, 
“ Yes, yes,” “ Very well,” as Arthur goes on. 

But as he nears the fatal two lines, Tom catches that 
falter and again looks up. He sees that there is some- 
thing the matter; Arthur can hardly get on at all. 
What can it be? 

Suddenly at this point Arthur breaks down alto- 
gether, and fairly bursts out crying, and dashes the cuff 
of his jacket across his eyes, blushing up to the roots. of 
his hair, and feeling as if he should like to go down sud- 
denly through the floor. The whole form are taken 
aback ; most of them stare stupidly at him, while those 
who are gifted with presence of mind find their places 
and look steadily at their books, in hopes of not catch- 
ing the master’s eye and getting called up in Arthur’s 
place, 


320 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


The master looks puzzled for a moment, and then 
seeing, as the fact is, that the boy is really affected to 
tears by the most touching thing in Homer, perhaps in 
all profane poetry put together, steps up to him and lays 
his hand kindly on his shoulder, saying, “ Never mind, © 
my little man, you’ve construed very well. Stop a min- 
ute, there’s no hurry.” 

Now, as luck would have it, there sat next above 
Tom on that day, in the middle bench of the form, a big 
boy, by name Williams, generally supposed to be the 
cock of the shell, therefore of all the school below the 
fifths. The small boys, who are great speculators on 
the prowess of their elders, used to hold forth to one 
another about Williams’ great strength, and to discuss 
whether East or Brown would take a licking from him. 
He was called Slogger Williams, from the force with 
which it was supposed he could hit. In the main, he 
was a rough, good-natured fellow enough, but very 
much alive to his own dignity. He reckoned himself 
the king of the form, and kept up his position with the 
strong hand, especially in the matter of forcing boys not 
to construe more than the legitimate forty lines. He 
had already grunted and grumbled to himself, when 
Arthur went on reading beyond the forty lines. But 
now that he had broken down just in the middle of all 
the long words, the Slogger’s wrath was fairly roused. 

“Sneaking little brute !’”’ muttered he, regardless of 


prudence, “clapping on the water-works just in the 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOCL-DAYS. 321 


hardest place ; see if I don’t punch his head after fourth 
lesson.” 

“Whose ?” said Tom, to whom the remark seemed 
to be addressed. 

“Why, that little sneak Arthur's,” replied Williams. 

“No, you shan’t,” said Tom. 

“ Hullo!” exclaimed Williams, looking at Tom with 
great surprise for a moment, and then giving him a sud- 
‘den dig in the ribs with his elbow, which sent Tom’s 
books flying on to the floor, and called the attention of 
the master, who turned suddenly round, and seeing the 
state of things, said, ; 

“ Williams, go down three places, and then go on.” 

The Slogger found his legs very slowly, and pro- 
ceeded to go below Tom and two other boys with great 
disgust, and then, turning round and facing the master, 
said, “I haven’t learned any more, sir; our lesson is only 
forty lines.” 

“Ts that so?” said the master, appealing generally 
to the top bench» No answer. 

“Who is the head boy of the form?” said he, wax- 
ing wroth. 

“ Arthur, sir,’ answered three or four boys, indicating 
our friend. 

“Oh, your name’s Arthur. Well, now, what is the 
length of your regular lesson ?” 

Arthur hesitated a moment, and then said, “ We call 
it only forty lines, sir.” 


322 TOM BROWWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


“ How do you mean, you call it?” 

“ Well, sir, Mr. Graham says we ain't to stop there 
when there’s time to construe more.” 

“T understand,” said the master. “ Williams, go 
down three more places, and write me out the lesson in 
Greek and English. And now, Arthur, finish con- 
struing.” 

“Oh! would I be in Arthur’s shoes after fourth 
lesson?” said the little boys to one another; but 
Arthur finished Helen’s speech without any further 
catastrophe, and the clock ‘struck four, which ended third 
lesson. 

Another hour was occupied in preparing and saying 
fourth lesson, during which Williams was bottling up 
his wrath ; and when five struck, and the lessons for the 
day were over, he prepared to take summary vengeance 
on the innocent cause of his misfortune. 

Tom was detained in school a few minutes after the 
rest, and on coming out into the quadrangle, the first 
thing he saw was a small ring of boys, applauding Wil- 
liams, who was holding Arthur by the collar. 

“There, you young sneak,” said he, giving Arthur a 
cuff on the head with his other hand, “ what made you 
say that—” 

“Hullo!” said Tom, shouldering into the crowd, 
“you drop that, Williams ; you shan’t touch him.” 

“Who'll stop me?” said the Slogger, raising his 
hand again. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 323 


“T,” said Tom ; and suiting the action to the word 
struck the arm which held Arthur's arm so sharply, that 
the Slogger dropped it with a start, and turned the full 
current of his wrath on Tom. 

“Will you fight?” 

“ Yes, of course.” 

“ Huzza, there’s going to be a fight between Slogger 
Williams and Tom Brown !”’ 

The news ran about like wildfire, and many boys 
who were on their way to tea at their several houses 
turned back, and sought the back of the chapel, where 
the fights come off. 

“Just run and tell East to come and back me,” said 
Tom to a small school-house boy, who was off like a 
rocket to Harrowell’s, just stopping for a moment to 
poke his head into the school-house hall, where the 
lower boys were already at tea, and sing out, “ eae 
Tom Brown and Slogger Williams.” 

Up start half the boys at once, leaving bread, eggs, 
butter, sprats and all the rest to take care of themselves. 
The greater part of the remainder follow in a minute, 
after swallowing their tea, carrying their food in their 
hands to consume as they go. Three or four only 
remain, who steal the butter of the more impetuous, and 
make to themselves an unctuous feast. 

In another minute East and Martin tear through the 
quadrangle, carrying a sponge, and arrive at the scene 
of action just as the combatants are beginning to strip. 

Tom felt he had. got his work cut out for him, as he 


324 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


stripped off his jacket, waistcoat and braces. East tied 
his handkerchief round his waist, and rolled up his shirt- 
sleeves for him: ‘“ Now, old boy, don’t you open your 
mouth to say a word, or try to help yourself a bit, we'll 
do all that; you keep all your breath and strength for 
the Slogger.” Martin meanwhile folded the clothes, 
and put them under the chapel rails; and now Tom, 
with East to handle him and Martin to give him a knee, 
steps out on the turf, and is ready for all that may come; 
and here is the Slogger too, all stripped, and thirsting 
for the fray. 

It doesn’t look a fair match at first glancé : Williams 
is nearly two inches taller, and probably a long year 
older than his opponent, and he is very strongly made 
about the arms and shoulders; “peels well,’ as the 
little knot of fifth-form boys, the amateurs, say, who 
stand outside the ring of little boys, looking com- 
placently on, but taking no active part in the proceed- 
ings. But down below he is not so good by any means ; 
no spring from the loins, and feeblish, not to say ship- 
wrecky, about the knees. ‘Tom, on the contrary, though 
not half so strong in the arms, is good all over, straight, 
hard and springy, from neck to ankle, better perhaps in 
his legs than anywhere. Besides, you can see by the 
clear white of his eye and fresh bright look of his skin that 
he is in tip-top training, able to do all he knows; while 
the Slogger looks rather sodden, as if he didn’t take 
much exercise and ate too much tuck. The time-keeper 


is chosen, a large ring made, and the two stand up 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 325 


opposite one another for a moment, giving us time just 
to make our little observations. 

“If Tom ‘ll only condescend to fight with his head 
and heels,” East mutters to Martin, “ we shall do.” 

But seemingly he won't, for there he goes in, mak- 
ing play with both hands. Hard all, is the word; the 
two stand to one another like men; rally follows rally 
in quick succession, each fighting as if he thought to 
finish the whole thing out of hand. “Can’t last at this 
rate,’ say the knowing ones, while the partisans of each 
make the air ring with their shouts and counter-shouts 
of encouragement, approval and defiance. 

“Take it easy, take it easy—keep away, let him 
come after you,” implores East, as he wipes Tom’s face 
after the first round with a wet sponge, while he sits 
back on Martin’s knee, supported by the Madman’s long 
arms, which tremble a little from excitement. 

“Time’s up,’ calls the timekeeper. 

“There he goes again, hang it all!” growls East, as 
his man is at it again as hard as ever. A very severe 
round follows, in which Tom gets out and out the worst 
of it, and is at last hit clean off his legs, and deposited 
on the grass by a right-hander from the Slogger. 

Loud shouts rise from the boys of Slogger’s school, 
and the school-house are silent and vicious, ready to 
pick quarrels anywhere. 

“Two to one in half-crowns on the big ’un,” says 
Rattle, one of the amateurs, a tall fellow, in thunder-and- 
lightning waistcoat, and puffy, good-natured face, 


s 


326 TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


“Done!” says Groove, another amateur of quieter 
look, taking out his note-book to enter it, for our friend 
Rattle sometimes forgets these little things. 

Meantime East is freshening up Tom with the 
sponge for next round, and has set two other boys to 
rub his hands. 

“Tom, old boy,” whispers he, “this may be fun for 
you, but it’s death to me. He'll hit all the fight out of 
you in another five minutes, and then I shall go and 
drown myself in the island ditch. Feint him—use your 
legs! draw him about! he'll loose his wind then in no 
time, and you can go into him. Hit at his body too; 
we'll take care of his frontispiece by-and-by.” 

Tom felt the wisdom of the counsel, and saw already 
that he couldn’t go in and finish the Slogger off at mere. 
hammer and tongs, so he changed his tactics completely 
in the third round. He now fights cautiously, getting 
away from and parrying the Slogger’s lunging hits, 
instead of trying to counter, and leading his enemy a 
dance all round the ring after him. “ He’s funking; go 
in, Williams,” “Catch him up,” “ Finish him off,” scream 
the small boys of the Slogger party. 

“Just what we want,” thinks East, chuckling to him- 
self, as he sees Williams, excited by these shouts, and 
thinking the game in his own hands, blowing himself in 
his exertions to get to close quarters again, while Tom 
is keeping away with perfect ease. 

They quarter over the ground again and again, Tom 
always on the defensive. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 434 


The Slogger pulls up at last for a moment, fairly 
blown. 

“Now then, Tom,” sings out East, dancing with 
delight. Tom goes in ina twinkling, and hits two heavy 
body biows, and gets away again betore the Slogger can 
catch his wind; which when he does he rushes with 
blind fury at Tom, and being skilfully parried and 
avoided, over-reaches himself and falls on his face, amidst 
terrific cheers from the school-house boys. 

“Double your two to one?” says Groove to Rattle, 
note-book in hand. 

“ Stop a bit,” says that hero, looking uncomfortably 
at Williams, who is puffing away on his second’s knee, 
winded enough, but little the worse in any other way. 

After another round, the Slogger too seems to see 
that he can’t go in and win right off, and has met his 
match or thereabouts. So he, too, begins to use his 
head, and tries to make Tom lose his patience, and come 
in before his time. And so the fight sways on, now one 
and now the other getting a trifling pull. | 

Tom’s face begins to look very one-sided ; there are 
little queer bumps on his forehead, and his mouth is 
bleeding; but East keeps the wet sponge going so 
scientifically, that he comes up looking as fresh and 
bright as ever. Williams is only slightly marked in the 
face, but by the nervous movement of his elbows you 
can see that Tom’s body-blows are telling. In fact half 


the vice of the Slogger’s hitting is neutralized, for he 


328 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


daren’t lunge out freely for fear of exposing his sides. 
It is too interesting by this time for much shouting, and 
the whole ring is very quiet. | 

“All right, Tommy,” whispers East; “hold on’s 
the horse that’s to win. We've got the last. Keep 
your head, old boy.” 

But where is Arthur all this time? Words cannot 
paint the poor little fellows distress. He couldn't 
muster courage to come up to the ring, but wandered up 
and down from the great fives’-court to the corner of the 
chapel rails,—now trying to make up his mind to throw 
himself between them, and try to stop them; then think- 
ing of running in and telling his friend Mary, who he 
knew would instantly report to the Doctor. The stories 
he had heard of men being killed in prize fights rose up 
horribly before him. 

Once only, when the shouts of “ Well, done, Brown !” 
“Huzza for the school-house!”’ rose higher than ever, he 
ventured up to the ring, thinking the victory was won. 
Catching sight of Tom’s face in the state I have 
described, all fear of consequences vanishing out of his 
mind, he rushed straight off to the matron’s room, be- 
seeching her to get the fight stopped, or he should die. 

But it’s time for us to get back to the close. What 
is this fierce tumult and confusion? The ring is broken, 
and high and angry words are being bandied about. “It’s 
all fair’ — “It isn’t” —“No hugging.” The fight is 
stopped. The combatants, however, sit there quietly, 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 329 


tended by their seconds, while their adherents wrangle 
in the middle. East can’t help shouting challenges to 
two or three of the other side, though he never leaves 
Tom for a moment, and plies the sponge as fast as 
ever. 

The fact is that at the end of the last round, Tom, 
seeing a good opening, had closed with his opponent, 
and after a moment’s struggle had thrown him heavily, 
by help of the fall he had learned from his village rival 
in the vale of White Horse. Williams hadn’t the ghost 
of a chance with Tom at wrestling; and the conviction 
broke at once on the Slogger faction that if this were 
allowed, their man must be licked. ‘There was a strong 
feeling in the school against catching hold and throwing, 
though it was generally ruled all fair within certain limits ; 
so the ring was broken and the fight stopped. 

The school-house are overruled — the fight is on 
again, but there is to be no throwing ; and East in high 
wrath threatens to take his man away after next 
round (which he don’t mean to do, by the way), when 
suddenly young Brooke comes through the small gate at 
the end of the chapel. The school-house faction rush 
to him. “Oh, hurrah! now we shall get fair play.” 

“Please, Brooke, come up; they won’t let Tom 


Brown throw him.” 
“Throw whom ?” says Brooke, coming up to the ring. 


“Oh: Williams, I see. Nonsense! of course he may 
throw him if he catches him fairly above the waist.” 


330 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


Now, young Brooke, you’re in the sixth, you know, 
and you ought to stopall fights. He looks hard at both 
boys. “Anything wrong ?” says he to East, nodding at 
Tom. 

“ Not a bit.” 

“ Not beat at all?” 

“Bless you, no! heaps of fight in him. Ain't there, 
Tom?” 

Tom looks at Brooke and grins. 

“How's he?” nodding at Williams. 

“So, so; rather done, I think, since his last fall. 
He won’t stand above two more.” 

“Time’s up!” the boys rise again and face one an- 
other. Brooke can’t find it in his heart to stop them 
just yet, so the round goes on, the Slogger waiting for 
Tom, and reserving all his strength to hit him out 
should he come in for the wrestling dodge again, for he 
feels that that must be stopped, or his sponge will soon 
go up in the air. 

And now another new comer appears on the field, to 
wit, the under-porter, with his long brush and great 
wooden receptacle for dust under his arm, He has been 
sweeping out the schools. 

“You'd better stop, gentlemen,” he says; “the 
Doctor knows that Brown’s fighting—he’ll be out in a 
minute.” | 

“You go to Bath, Bill,” is all that excellent servitor 
gets by his advice. And being a man of his hands, and 


- TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DA YS. 341 


a staunch upholder of the school-house, can’t help stop- 
ping to look on for a bit, and see Tom Brown, their pet 
craftsman, fight a round. 

It is grim earnest now, and no mistake. Both boys 
feel this, and summon every power of head, hand, and 
eyes to their aid. A piece of luck on either side, a foot 
slipping, a blow getting well home, or another fall, may 
decide it. Tom works slowly round for an opening ; he 
has all the legs, and can choose his own time. The 
Slogger waits for the attack, and hopes to finish it by 
some heavy right-handed blow. As they quarter slowly 
over the ground, the evening sun comes out from be- 
hind a cloud and falls full on Williams’ face. Tom darts 
in; the heavy right-hand is delivered, but only grazes 
his head. A short rally at close quarters, and they 
close ; in another moment the Slogger is thrown again 
heavily for the third time. 

“ll give you three to two on the little one in half- 
crowns,” said Groove to Rattle. 

“ No, thank’ee,” answers the other, diving his hands 
further into his coat-tails. 

Just at this stage of the proceedings, the door of the 
turret which leads to the Doctor's library suddenly 
opens, and he steps into the close, and makes straight 
for the ring, in which Brown and the Slogger are both 
seated on their seconds’ knees for the last time. 

“The Doctor! the Doctor!” shouts some small boy 
who catches sight of him, and the ring melts away in a 


E&Y: TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA VS. 


few seconds, the small boys tearing off, Tom collaring 
his jacket and waistcoat, and slipping through the little 
gate by the chapel, and round the corner to Harrowell’s 
with his backers, as lively as need be, Williams and his 
backers making off not quite so fast across the close ; 
Groove, Rattle and the other big fellows trying to com- 
bine dignity and prudence in a comical manner, and 
walking off fast enough, they hope, not to be recognized, 
and not fast enough to look like running away. 

Young Brooke alone remains on the ground by the 
time the Doctor gets there, and touches his hat, not 
without a slight inward qualm. 

“Hah! Brooke. I am surprised to see you here. 
Don’t you know that I expect the sixth to stop fight- 
ing?” 

Brooke felt much more uncomfortable than he had 
expected, but he was rather a favorite with the Doctor 
for his openness and plainness of speech; so blurted 
out, as he walked by the Doctor’s side, who had already 
turned back— 

“Yes, sir, generally. But I thought you wished us — 
to exercise a discretion in the matter too—not to inter- 
fere too soon.” 

“But they have been fighting this half hour and 
more,” said the Doctor. 

“Ves, sir; but neither was hurt. And they’re the 
sort of boys who'll be all the better friends now, which 
they wouldn’t have been if they had been StOR ERY any 
earlier—before it was so equal.” 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 333 


“Who was fighting with Brown?” said the Doctor. 

“Williams, sir, of LThompson’s. He is bigger than 
Brown, and had the best of it at first, but not when you 
came up, sir. There’s a good deal of jealousy between 
our house and Thompson's, and there would have been 
more fights if this hadn’t been let go on, or if either of 
them had had much the worst of it.” 

“ Well but, Brooke,” said the Doctor, “ doesn’t this 
look a little as if you exercised your discretion by only 
stopping a fight when the school-house boy is getting 
the worst of it?” 

Brooke, it must be confessed, felt rather gravelled. 

“ Now remember,” added the Doctor, as he stopped 
at the turret-door, “this fight is not to go on—you'll 
see to that. And I expect you to stop all fights in 
future at once.” 

“Very well, sir,” said young Brooke, touching his 
hat, and not sorry to see the turret-door close behind 
the Doctor’s back. 

Meantime Tom and the staunchest of his adherents 
had reached Harrowell’s, and Sally was bustling about 
to get them a late tea, while Stumps had been sent off 
to Tew the butcher, to get a piece of raw beef for 
Tom’s eye, which was to be healed off-hand, so that he 
might show well in the morning. He was not a bit the 
worse except a slight difficulty in his vision, a singing 
in his ears, and a sprained thumb, which he kept in a 


cold-water bandage, while he drank lots of tea, and list- 


334 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


ened to the Babel of voices talking and speculating of 
nothing but the fight, and how Williams would have 
given in after another fall (which he didn’t in the least 
believe), and how on earth the Doctor could have got to 
know of it,—such bad luck! He couldn’t help thinking 
to himself that he was glad he hadn’t won; he liked it 
better as it was, and felt very friendly to the Slogger. 
And then poor little Arthur crept in and sat down 
quietly near him, and kept looking at him and the raw 
beef with such plaintive looks, that Tom at last burst 
out laughing. 

“ Don’t make such eyes, young ’un,” said he, “ there’s 
nothing the matter.” 

* Oh; but’ Tom, are you much hurt? I can’t bear 
thinking it was all for me.” 

“Not a bit of it; don’t flatter yourself. We were 
sure to have had it out sooner or later.” 

“ Well, but you won’t goon, will you? You'll promise 
me you won’t go on?” 

“Can’t tell about that—all depends on the houses. 
We're in the hands of our countrymen, you know. Must 
ficht for the schoolhouse flag, if so be.” 

However, the lovers of the science were doomed to 
disappointment this time. Directly after locking- UP, one 
of the night fags knocked at Tom’s door. 

_“ Brown, young Brooke wants you in the sixth-form 
room.” 

Up went Tom to the summons, and found the mag- 
nates sitting at their supper. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 335 


“Well Brown,” said young Brooke, nodding to him, 
“how do you feel?” 

“Oh, very well, thank you, only I’ve sprained my 
thumb, I think.” 

“Sure to do that in a fight. Well, you hadn't the 
worst of it, 1 could see. Where did you learn that 
throw ?” 

‘“ Down in the country, when I was a boy.” 

“ Hullo! why what are younow? Well, never mind, 
you're aplucky fellow. Sit down and have some supper.” 

Tom obeyed, by no means loth. And the fifth-form 
boy next him filled him a tumbler of bottled beer, and he 
ate and drank, listening to the pleasant talk, and wonder- 
ing how soon he should be in the fifth, and one of that 
much-envied society. 

As he got up to leave, Brooke said, “ You must shake 
hands to-morrow morning, I shall come and see that done 
after first lesson.” 

And so he did. And Tom and the Slogger shook 
hands with great satisfaction and mutual respect. And 
for the next year or two, whenever fights were being 
talked of, the small boys who had been present shook 
their heads wisely, saying, “Ah! but you should just 
have seen the fight between Slogger Williams and Tom 
Brown!” | | 

And now, boys all, three words before we quit the 
subject. I have put in this chapter on fighting of malice 


336 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. / 


prepense, partly because I want to give you a true pic- 
ture of what every-day school life was in my time, and 
not a kid-glove and go-to-meeting picture, and partly 
because of the cant and twaddle that’s talked of boxing 
and fighting with fists nowadays. Even Thackeray has 
given in to it; and only a few weeks ago there was some 
rampant stuff in the Times on the subject, in an article 


on field sports. 


Boys will quarrel, and when they quarrel will some- 
times fight.. Fighting with the fists is the natural and 
English way for English boys to settle their quarrels. 
What substitute for it is there, or ever was there, 


amongst any nation under the sun? What would you 
like to see take its place? 


Learn to box, then, as you learn to play cricket and 
foot-ball. Not one of you will be the worse, but very 
much better, for learning to box well. Should you never 
have to use it in earnest, there’s no exercise in the world 
so good for the temper, and for the muscles of the back 
and legs. 

As to fighting, keep out of it if you can, by all means, 
When the time comes, if it ever should, that you have to 
say “Yes” or “No” toa challenge to fight, say “No” 
if you can,—only take care you make it clear to your- 
selves why you say “No.” It’s a proof of the highest 
courage, if done from true Christian motives. It’s quite 
right and justifiable, if done from a simple aversion to 
physical pain and danger. But don’t say “ No” because 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 337 


you fear a licking, and say or think it’s because you fear 
God, for that’s neither Christian nor honest. And if 
you do fight, fight it out ; and don’t give in while you 
can stand and see. 


_ 


338 TOM BROWWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


CHAPTER VI. 


FEVER IN THE SCHOOL, 


*¢ This our hope for all that’s mortal, 
And we too shall burst the bond ; 
Death keeps watch beside the portal, 
But ’tis life that dwells beyond.”’ 
JoHN STERLING. 


Two years have passed since the events recorded in 
the last chapter, and the end of the summer half-year is 
again drawing on. Martin has left and gone ona cruise 
in the South Pacific, in one of his uncle’s ships ; the old 
magpie, as disreputable as ever, his last bequest to 
Arthur, lives in the joint study. Arthur is nearly six- 
teen, and at the head of the twenty, having gone up the 
school at the rate of a form a half-year. East and Tom 
have been much more deliberate in their progress, and 
are only a little way up the fifth form. Great strapping 
boys they are, but still thorough boys, filling about the 
same place in the house that young Brooke filled when 
they were new boys, and much the same sort of fellows. 
Constant intercouse with Arthur has done much for 
both of them, especially for Tom; but much remains yet 
to be done, if they are to get all the good out of Rugby 
which is to be got there in these times. Arthur is still 
frail and delicate, with more spirit than body ; but, thanks 
to his intimacy with them and Martin, has learned to 
swim, and run, and play cricket, and has never hurt him- 
self by too much reading. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS. 339 


One evening, as they were all sitting down to supper 
-n the fifth-form room, some one started a report that a 
fever had broken out at one of the bcarding-houses ; 
“they say,” he added, “that Thompson is very ill, and 
that Dr. Robertson has been sent for from Northamp- 
ton.” | 
“Then we shall all be sent home,” cried another. 
“ Hurrah ! five weeks’ extra holidays, and no fifth-form 
examination !”’ 

“T hope not,” said Tom; “ there’ll be no Marylebone 
match, then, at the end of the half.” 

Some thought one thing, some another, many didn’t 
believe the report; but the next day (Tuesday) Dr. 
Robertson arrived, and stayed all day, and had long con 
ferences with the Doctor. | 

On Wednesday morning, after prayers, the Doctor 
addressed the whole school. There were several cases 
of fever in different houses, he “said; but Dr. Robert- 
son, after the most careful examination, had assured 
him that it was not infectious, and that if proper 
care were taken, there could be no reason for stopping 
the school work at present. The examinations were just 
coming on, and it would be very unadvisable to break up 
now. However, any boys who chose to do so were at 
liberty to write home, and, if their parents wished it, to 
leave at once. He should send the whole school home 
if the fever spread. 

The next day Arthur sickened, but there was no 
other case. Before the end of the week thirty or forty 


340 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


boys had gone, but the rest stayed on. There was a 
general wish to please the Doctor, and a feeling that it 
was cowardly to run away. 

On the Saturday Thompson died, in the bright after- 
noon, while the cricket-match was going on as _ usual in 
the big-side ground ; the Doctor, coming from his death- 
bed, passed along the gravel-walk at the side of the close, 
but no one knew what happened till the next day. At 
morning lecture it began to be rumored, and by after- 
noon chapel was known generally; and a feeling of 
seriousness and awe at the actual presence of death 
among them came over the whole school. In all the 

long years of his ministry the Doctor perhaps never 
; spoke words which sank deeper than some of those in 
that day’s sermon. “When I came yesterday from 
visiting all but the very death-bed of him who has been 
taken from us, and looked around upon all the familiar 
objects and scenes within our own ground, where your 
common amusements were going on, with your common 
cheerfulness and activity, I felt there was nothing pain- 
ful in witnessing that; it did not seem in iny way shock- 
ing or out of tune with those feelings which the sight of 
a dying Christian must be supposed to awaken. The 
unsuitableness in point of natural feeling between scenes 
of mourning and scenes of liveliness did not at all present 
itself. But I did feel that if at that moment any of those 
faults had been brought before me which sometimes 
occur amongst us; had I heard that any of you had been 
guilty of falsehood, or of drunkenness, or of any other 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 34t 


such sin; had I heard from any quarter the language of 
profaneness, or of unkindness, or of indecency; had I 
heard or seen any signs of that wretched folly which 
courts the laugh of fools by affecting not to dread evil 
and not to care for good, then the unsuitableness of any 
of these things with the scene I had just quitted would 
indeed have been most intensely painful. And why ? 
Not because such things would really have been worse 
than at any other time, but because at such a moment 
the eyes are opened really to know good and evil, be- 
cause we then feel what it is so to live as that death be- 
comes an infinite blessing, and what it is so to live, also, 
that it were good for us if we had never been born.” 

Tom d gone into chapel in sickening anxiety about 
Arthur, but he came out cheered and strengthened by 
those grand words, and walked up alone to their study. 
And when he sat down and looked round, and saw 
Arthur’s straw-hat and cricket-jacket hangine on their 
pegs, and marked all his little neat arrangements, not 
one of which had been disturbed, the tears indeed rolled 
down his cheeks ; but they were calm and blessed tears, 
and he repeated to himself, ‘“ Yes, Geordie’s eyes are 
opened—he knows what it is so to live as that death 
becomes an infinite blessing. But do I? Oh, God, can 
I bear to lose him ?”’ 

The week passed mournfully away. No more boys 
sickened, but Arthur was reported worse each day, and 
his mother arrived early in the week. Tom made many 


appeals to be allowed to see him, and several times tried 


342 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


to get up to the sick-room; but the housekeeper was 
always in the way, and at last spoke to the Doctor, who 
kindly but peremptorily forbade him. 

Thompson was buried on Tuesday, and the burial 
service, so soothing and grand always, but beyond all 
words solemn when read over a boy’s grave to his com- 
panions, brought him much comfort, and many strange 
new thoughts and longings. He went back to his regular 
life, and played cricket and bathed as usual: it seemed 
to him that this was the right thing to do, and the 
new thoughts and longings became more brave and 
healthy for the effort. The crisis came on Saturday, 
the day week that Thompson had died ; and during that 
long afternoon Tom sat in his study reading his Bible, 
and going every half hour to the housekeeper’s room, 
expecting each time to hear that the gentle and brave 
little spirit had gone home. But God had work for 
Arthur to do; the crisis passed—on Sunday evening he 
was declared out of danger ; on Monday he sent a mes- 
sage to Tom that he was almost well, had changed his 
room, and was to be allowed to see him the next day. 

It was evening when the housekeeper summoned 
him to the sick-room. Arthur was lying on the sofa by 
the open window, through which the rays of the western 
sun stole gently, lighting up his white face and golden 
hair. Tom remembered a German picture of an angel 
which he knew ; often had he thought how transparent 
and golden and spirit-like it was; and he shuddered to 
think how like it Arthur looked, and felt a shock as if 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS 343 


his blood had all stopped short, as he realized how near 
the other world his friend must have been to look like 
that. Never till that moment had he felt how his little 
chum had twined himself round his heart-strings ; and 
as he stole gently across the room and knelt down, and 
put his arm round Arthur’s head on the pillow, felt 
ashamed and half angry at his own red and brown face, 
and the bounding sense of health and power which 
filled every fibre of his body, and made every movement 
of mere living a joy to him. He needn’t have troubled 
himself; it was this very strength and power so differ- 
ent from his own which drew Arthur so to him. 

Arthur laid his thin white hand, on which the blue 
veins stood out so plainly, on Tom’s great brown fist, 
and smiled at him; and then looked out of the window 
again, as if he couldn’t bear to lose a moment of the 
sunset, into the tops of the great feathery elms, round 
-which the rooks were circling and clanging, returning 
in flocks from their evening’s foraging parties. The 
elms rustled, the sparrows in the ivy just outside the 
window chirped and fluttered about, quarrelling, and 
making it up again ; the rooks young and old talked in 
chorus, and the merry shouts of the boys and the sweet 
click of the cricket-bats came up cheerily from below. 

“ Dear George,” said Tom, “I amso glad to be let up 
to see you at last. I’ve tried hara to come so often, but 
they wouldn’t let me before.” . 

“Oh, I know, Tom; Mary has told me every day 
about you, and how she was obliged to make the Doctor 


344 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


speak to you to keep you away. I’m very glad you 
didn’t get up, for you might have caught it, and you 
couldn’t stand being ill with all the matches going on. 
And you're in the eleven, too, I hear—I’m so glad.” 

“Yes, ain’t it jolly?” said Tom, proudly ; I’m ninth 
too. I made forty at the last pie-match, and caught 
three fellows out. So Iwas put in above Jones and 
Tucker. Tucker’s so savage, for he was head of the 
twenty-two. 

“Well, I think you ought to be higher yet,” said 
Arthur, who was as jealous for the renown of Tom in 
games as Tom was for his as a scholar. 

“Never mind, I don’t care about cricket or any- 
thing, now you're getting well, Geordie ; and I shouldn’t 
have hurt, I know, if they’d have let me come up,— 
nothing hurts me. But you'll get about now directly, 
won't you? You won’t believe how clean I’ve kept the 
study. All your things are just as you left them; and 
I feed the old magpie just when you used, though I 
have to come in from bigside for him, the old rip. He 
won't look pleased all I can do, and sticks his head first 
on one side and then on the other, and blinks at me be- 
fore he'll begin to eat, till ’'m half inclined to box his 
ears. And whenever East comes in, you should see 
him hop off to the window, dot and go one, though 
Harry wouldn’t touch a feather of him now.” 

Arthur laughed. ‘Old Gravey has a good memory; 
he can’t forget the sieges of poor Martin’s den in old 
times.” He paused a moment, and then went on, 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 345 


“You can’t think how often I’ve been thinking of old 
Martin since I’ve been ill; I suppose one’s mind gets 
restless, and likes to wander off to strange unknown 
places. I wonder what queer new pets the old boy has 
got; how he must be revelling in the thousand new 
birds, beasts and fishes.” 

Tom felt a pang of jealousy, but kicked it out in a 
moment. “ Fancy him on a South Sea island, with the 
Cherokees or Patagonians, or some such wild niggers.” 
(Tom’s ethnology and geography were faulty, but suf- 
ficient for his needs.) “They'll make the old Madman 
cock medicine-man and tattoo him all over. Perhaps 
he’s cutting about now all blue, and has a squaw and a 
wigwam. He'll improve their boomerangs, and be able 
to throw them too, without having old Thomas sent 
after him by the Doctor to take them away.” 

Arthur laughed at the remembrance of the boom- 
erang story, but then looked grave again, and said, 
“ He'll convert all the island, I know.” 

“Yes, if he don’t blow it up first.” 

“Do you remember, Tom, how you and East used 
to laugh at him and chaff him because he said he 
was sure the rooks all had calling-over or prayers, or 
something of the sort, when the locking-up bell rang? 
Well, I declare,” said Arthur, looking up seriously into 
Tom’s laughing eyes, “I do think he was right. Since 
I've been lying here, I’ve watched them every night; 
and do you know, they really do come, and perch all of 
them just about locking-up time; and then first there’s 


346 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


a regular chorus of caws, and then they stop a bit, and 
one old fellow, or perhaps two or three in different trees, 
caw solos, and then off they all go again, fluttering about 
and cawing anyhow till they roost.” 

“JT wonder if the old blackies do tall,” ” said Tom, 
looking up at them. “How they must abuse me and 
East, and pray for the Doctor for stopping the slinging,” 

“There! look, look!” cried Arthur, “don’t you see 
the old fellow without a tail coming up? Martin used to 
call him the ‘clerk.’ He can’t steer himself. You never 
saw such fun as he is in a high wind, when he can’t steer 
himself home, and get carried right past the trees, and 
has to bear up again and again before he can perch.” 

The locking-up bell began to toll, and the two boys 
were silent and listened to it. The sound soon carried 
Tom off to the river and the woods, and he began to go 
_overin his mind the many occasions on which he had 
heard that toll coming faintly down the breeze, and had to 
pack up his rod in ahurry, and make a run for it, to get in 
before the gates were shut. He was roused with a start 
from his memories by Arthur’s voice, gentle and weak 
from his late illness. 

“Tom, will you be angry if I talk to you very 
seriously ?” 

“ No, dear old boy, not I. But ain’t you faint, Arthur, 
or ill? What canI get you? Don’t say anything to 
hurt yourself now—you are very weak; let me come up 
again.” 


“No, no; I shan't hurt myself. I’d sooner speak to 


LOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 349 


you now, if youdon’t mind. [ve asked Mary to tell the 
Doctor you are with me, so you needn’t go down to call- 
ing-over ; and I mayn’t have another chance, for I shall 
most likely have to go home for change of air to get 
well, and mayn’t come back this half.” 

“Oh, do you think you must go away before the end 
of the half? I’mso sorry. Its more than five weeks 
yet to the holidays, and all the fifth-form examination and 
and half the cricket-matches to come yet. And what 
shall I do all that time alone in our study? — Why, 
Arthur, it will be more than twelve weeks before I see 
you again. Oh, hang it, I can’t stand that! Besides, 
who's to keep me up to working at the examination 
books? I shall come out bottom of the form, as sure as 
eggs is eggs.” 

Tom was rattling on, half in joke, half in earnest, for 
he wanted to get Arthur out of his serious vein, thinking 
it would do him harm ; but Arthur broke in— 

“Oh, please, Tom, stop, or youll drive all I had to 
say out of my head. And I’m already horribly afraid I’m 
going to make you angry.” 

“Don’t gammon, young ’un,” rejoined Tom (the use 
of the old name, dear to him from old recollections, made 
Arthur start and smile, and feel quite happy) ; “you 
know you ain’t afraid, and you’ve never made me angry 
since the first month we chummed together. Now I’m 
going to be quite sober for a quarter of an hour, which 
is more than I am once in a year: so make the most of 
it, heave ahead, and pitch into me right and left.” 


3 48 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


“Dear Tom,I ain’t going to pitch into you,” said 
Arthur, piteously ; “andit seems so cocky in me to be 
advising you, who’ve been my backbone ever since I’ve 
been at Rugby, and have made the schoola paradise to me. 
Ah, I see I shall never do it, unless I go head-over-heels 
at once, as you said when you taught me to swim. Tom, 
I want you to give up using vulgus-books and cribs.” 

Arthur sank back on to his pillow with a sigh, as if 
the effort had been great; but the worst was now over, 
and he looked straight at Tom, who was evidently taken 
aback. He leant his elbow on his knees, and stuck his 
hands into his hair, whistled a verse of “ Billy Taylor,” 
and then was quite silent for another minute. Nota 
shade crossed his face, but he was clearly puzzled. At 
last he looked up, and caught Arthur’s anxious look, 
took his hand, and said simply— 

“Why, young ’un ?” 

“Because you're the honestest boy in Rugby, and 
that ain't honest.” 

“T don’t see that.” 

“What were you sent to Rugby for?” 

“Well I don’t know exactly—nobody ever told me. 
I suppose because all boys are sent to a public school in 
England.” 

“But what do you think yourself? What do you want 
to do here, and to carry away ?” 

Tom thought a minute. “I want to be A I at 
cricket and foot-bali, and all other games, and to make 
my hands keep my head against any fellow, lout or 


TOM BROWN’S\SCHOOL-DA YS. 349 


gentleman. I want to get into the sixth before I leave, 
and to please the Doctor; and I want to carry away just 
as as much Latin and Greek as will take me through 
Oxford respectably. There now, young ’un, I never 
thought of it before, but that’s pretty much about my 
figure. Ain't it all onthe square? What have you got 
to say to that ?”’ 

“Why, that you are pretty sure to do all that you 
want, then.” 

“Well, I hope so. But you've forgot one thing that I 
want to leave behind me. I want to leave behind me,” 
said Tom, speaking slow, and looking much moved, “ the 
name of a fellow who never bullied a little boy, or turned 
his back on a big one.” 

Arthur pressed his hand, and after a moment’s silence 
went on: “ You say, Tom, you want to please the Doc- 
tor. Now, do you want to please him by what he thinks 

you do, or by what you really do?” 
iia By what I really do, of course.” 

“Does he think you use cribs and vulgus-books ?” 

Tom felt at once that his flank was turned, but he 
couldn’t give in. ‘“ He was at Winchester himself,” said 
he ; “he knows all about it.” 

“Yes, but does he think you use them? Do you 
think he approves of it ?”’ 

“You young villain!” said Tom, shaking his fist at 
Arthur, half vexed and half pleased, “I never think 
about it. Hang it—there, perhaps he don’t, Well, I 
suppose he don't,” 


350 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


Arthur saw that he had got his point; he knew his 
friend well, and was wise in silence as in speech. He 
only said, “I would sooner have the Doctor’s good opin- 
ion of me as I really am than any man’s in the world.” 

After another minute, Tom began again: “ Look 
here, young ’un, how on earth am I to get time to play 
the matches this half if I give up cribs? We're in the 
_middle of that Jong crabbed chorus in the Agamemnon ; 
I can only just make head or tail of it with the crib. 
Then there’s Pericles’ speech coming on in Thucydides, 
and ‘The Birds’ to get up for examination, besides the 
Tacitus.” Tom groaned at the thought of his accumu- 
lated labors. “I say, young ’un, there’s only five weeks 
or so left to the holidays; mayn’t I go on as usual for 
this half? Tl tell the Doctor about it some day, or you 
may.” 

Arthur looked out of the window; the twilight had 
come on, and all was silent. He repeated in a low voice, 
“Tn this thing the Lord pardon thy servant, that when 
my master goeth into the house of Rimmon to worship 
there, and he leaneth on my hand, and I bow down my- 
self in the house of Rimmon, when I bow down myself 
in the house of Rimmon, the Lord pardon thy servant in 
this thing.” 

Not a word more was said on the subject, and the 
boys were again silent—one of those blessed, short 
silences in which the resolves which color a life are so 
often taken. 

Tom was the first to break it. “You've been very 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 351 


ill indeed, haven’t you, Geordie ?”’ said he, with a mix- 
ture of awe and curiosity, feeling as if his friend had 
been in some strange place or scene, of which he could 
form no idéa, and full of the memory of his own thoughts 
during the past week. * 

“Yes, very. I’m sure the Doctor thought I was go- 
ing to die. Hegave me the sacrament last Sunday, and 
you can’t think what he is when one is ill. Hesaid such 
brave, and tender, and gentle things to me, I felt quite 
light and strong after it, and never had any more fear. 
My mother brought our old medical man, who attended 
me when I was a poor sickly child ; he said my constitu- 
tion was quite changed, and that I’m fit for anything 
now. If I hadn't, I couldn’t have stood three days of 
this illness. That’s all thanks to you, and the games 
you made me fond of.” 

“ More thanks to old Martin,” said Tom ; “ he’s been 
your real friend.” 

“ Nonsense, Tom; he never could have done for me 
what you have.” 

“Well, I don’t know; I did little enough. Did they 
tell you—you won’t mind hearing it now, I know—that 
poor Thompson died last week? The other three boys 
are getting quite round, like you.” 

“ Oh, yes, I heard of it.” 

Then Tom, who was quite full of it, told Arthur of 
the burial-service in the chapel, and how it had impressed 
him, and he believed all the other boys. “ And though 
the Doctor never said a word about it,” said he, “and it 


352 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


was half-..oliday and match-day, there wasn’t a game 
played in the close all the afternoon, and the boys all 
went about as if it were Sunday.” 

“T’m very glad of it,” said Arthur. “But, Tom, I’ve 
had such strange thoughts about death lately. I’ve 
never told a soul of them, not even my mother. Some- 
times I think they’re wrong, but, do you know, I don’t 
think in my heart I could be sorry at the death of any 
of my friends.” 

Tom was taken quite aback. “ What in the world is 
the young ’’un after now?” thought he; “ I’ve swallowed 
a good many of his crotchets, but this altogether beats 
me. He can’t be quite right in his head.” He didn’t 
want to say a word, and shifted about uneasily in the 
dark ; however, Arthur seemed to be waiting for an an- 
swer, so at last he said, “I don’t think I quite see what 
you mean, Geordie. One’s told so often to think about 
death, that I’ve tried it on sometimes, especially this 
last week. But wewon’t talk of itnow. Id better go— 
you're getting tired, and I shall do you harm.” 

““No,.no, indeed I ain't; Tom; you must stop till 
nine—there’s only twenty minutes. I’ve settled you 
shall stop till nine. And oh! do let me talk to you—I 
must talk to you. I see it’s just as I feared. You think 
I’m half mad—don’t you now ?” 

“Well, I did think it odd what you said, Geordie, as 
you ask me.” 

Arthur paused a moment, and then said quickly, 
“T’ll tell you how it all happened. At first, when I was 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 353 


sent to the sick-room, and found I had really got the 
fever, I was terribly frightened. I thought 1 should dic, 
and I could not face it fora mmoment. I don’t think it 
was sheer cowardice at first, but I thouyht how hard it 
was to be taken away from my mother and sisters, and 
* you all, just as I was beginning to see my way to many 
.things, and to feel that I might be a man and do a 
man’s work. To die without having fought, and worked, 
and given one’s life away, was too hard to bear. I got 
terribly impatient, and accused God of injustice, and 
strove to justify myself ; and the harder I strove, the 
deeper I sank. Then the image of my dear father often 
came across me, but I turned from it. Whenever it 
came, a heavy numbing throb seemed to take hold of my 
heart, and say, ‘ Dead—dead—dead. And I cried out, 
‘ The living, the living shall praise Thee, O God; the 
dead cannot praise Thee. There is no work in the 
grave; in the night no man can work. But I can work. 
I can do great things. I wz? do great things. Why 
wilt thou slay me? And so I struggled and plunged, 
deeper and deeper, and went down into a living black 
tomb. I was alone there, with no power to stir or think ; 
alone with myself ; beyond the reach of all human fel- 
lowship ; beyond Christ’s reach, I thought, in my night- 
mare. You, who are brave and bright and strong, can 
have no idea of that agony. Pray to God you never 
may. Pray as for your life.” 
Arthur stopped—from exhaustion, Tom thought ; but 


what between his fear lest Arthur should hurt himself, 
23 


354 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


his awe, and longing for him to go on, he couldn't ask, 
or stir to help him. 

Presently he went on, but quite calm and slow. “I 
don’t know how long I was in that state. For more 
than a day, I know; for I was quite conscious, and lived 
my outer life all the time, and took my medicine, and 
spoke to my mother, and heard what they said. But I 
didn’t take much note of time; I thought time was over 
for me, and that the tomb was what was beyond. Well, 
on last Sunday morning, as I seemed to lie in that tomb, 
alone, as I thought, forever and ever, the black dead 
wall was cleft in two, and I was caught up and borne 
through into the light by some ereat power, some living 
mighty spirit. Tom, do you remember the living crea- 
tures and the wheels in Ezekiel? It was just like that: 
‘When they went I heard the noise of their wings, like 
the noise of great waters, as the voice of the Almighty, 
the voice of speech, as the noise of an host ; when they 
stood they let down their wings’—‘ and they went every 
one straight forward; whither the spirit was to go they 
went, and they turned not when they went. And we 
rushed through the bright air, which was full of myriads 
of living creatures, and paused on the brink of a great 
river. And the power held me up, and I knew that that 
great river was the grave, and death dwelt there ; but 
not the death I had met in the black tomb—that I felt 
was gone forever. For on the other bank of the great 
river | saw men and women and children rising up pure 
and bright, and the tears were wiped from their eyes, 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 355 


and they put on glory and strength, and all weariness 
and pain fell away. And beyond were a multitude 
which no man could number, and they worked at some 
great work; and they who rose from the river went on 
and joined in the work. They all worked, and each 
worked in a different way, but all at the same work. 
And I saw there my father, and the men in the old town 
whom I knew when I was a child; many a hard stern 
man, who never came to church, and whom they called 
atheist and infidel. There they were, side by side with 
my father, whom I had seen toil and die for them, and 
women and little children, and the seal was on the fore- 
heads of all. And I longed to see what the work was, 
and could not ; so I tried to plunge in the river, for I 
thought I would join them, but could not. Then I 
looked about to see how they got into the river. And 
this I could not see, but I saw myriads on this side, and 
they too worked, and I knew that it was the same work ; 
and the same seal was on their foreheads. And though 
I saw that there was toil and anguish in the work of 
these, and that most that were working were blind and 
feeble, yet I longed no more to plunge into the river, 
but more and more to know what the work was. And 
as I looked I saw my mother and my sisters, and I saw 
the Doctor, and you, Tom, and hundreds more whom I 
knew ; and at last I saw myself, too, and I was toiling 
and doing ever so little a piece of the great work. Then 
it all melted away, and the power left me, and‘as it left 
me I thought I heard a voice say, ‘The vision is for an 


356 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


appointed time ; though it tarry, wait for it, for in the 
end it shall speak.and not lie; it shall surely come, 
it shall not tarry. It was early morning I knew 
then, it was so quiet and cool, and my mother was fast 
asleep in the chair by my bedside ; but it wasn’t only a 
dream of mine. I knew it wasn’t a dream. Then I fell 
into a deep sleep, and only awoke after afternoon 
chapel ; and the Doctor came and gave me the sacra- 
ment, as I told you. I told him and my mother I 
should get well—I knew I should; but I couldn’t tell 
them why. Tom,” said Arthur, gently, after another 
minute, “ do you see why I could not grieve now to see 
my dearest friend die? It can’t be—it isn’t all fever or 
illness. God would never have let me see it so clear if 
it wasn’t true. I don’t understand it all yet—it will 
take me my life and longer to do that—to find out what 
the work is.” 

When Arthur stopped there was a long pause. Tom 
could not speak, he was almost afraid to breathe, lest he 
should break the train of Arthur's thoughts. He longed 
to hear more, and to ask questions. In another minute 
nine o’clock struck, and a gentle tap at the door called 
them both back into the world again. They did not 
answer, however, for a nioment, and so the door opened 
and a lady came in carrying a candle. 

She went straight to the sofa and took hold of 
Arthur’s hand, and then stooped down and kissed him. 

“My. dearest boy, you feel a little feverish again. 
Why didn’t you have lights? You've talked too much, 
and excited yourself in the dark.” 


TOM BROWNS SCHOOL-DAYS. 387 


“Oh, no, mother, you can’t think how well I feel. 
I shall start with you to-morrow for Devonshire. But, 
mother, here’s my friend, here’s Tom Brown—you know 
him?” . 

“Yes, indeed, I’ve known him for years,” said she, 
and held out her hand to Tom, who was now standing 
up behind the sofa. This was Arthur's mother. Tall 
and slight and fair, with masses of golden hair drawn 
back from the broad white forehead, and the calm blue 
eye meeting his so deep and open—the eye that he knew 
so well, for it was his friend’s over again, and the lovely 
tender mouth thmttrembled while he looked. She stood 
there, a woman of thirty-eight, old enough to be his 
mother, and one whose face showed the lines which 
must be written on the faces of good men’s wives and 
widows—but he thought he had never: seen anything 
so beautiful. He couldn't help wondering if Arthur’s 
sisters were like her. 

Tom held her hand and looked on straight in her 
face; he could neither let it go nor speak. ; 

“ Now, Tom,” said Arthur, laughing, “ where are 
your manners? you'll stare my mother out of counte- 
nance.” Tom dropped the little hand with asigh. “There, 
sit down, both of you. Here, dearest mother, there’s 
room here ;” and he made a place on the sofa for her. 
“Tom, you needn’t go; I’m sure you won't be called up at 
first lesson.” Tom felt that he would risk being floored 
at every lesson for the rest of his natural school-life 
sooner than go; so sat down. “And now,” said Arthur, 


358 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


“T have realized one of the dearest pleasures of my life 
—to see you two together.” 

And then he led away the talk to their Rome in 
Devonshire, and the red bright earth, and the deep green 
combes, and the peat streams like cairngorm pebbles, and. 
the wild moor with its high cloudy Tors for a giant 
background to the picture—till Tom got jealous, and 
stood up for the clear chalk streams, and the emerald 
water meadows and great elms and willows of the dear 
old royal county, as he gloried to call it. And the 
mother sat on quiet and loving, rejoicing in their life. 
The quarter-to-ten struck, and the beligrang for bed, be- 
fore they had well begun their talk, as it seemed. 

Then Tom rose with a sigh to go. 

“Shall I see you in the morning, Geordie?” said he, 
as he shook his friend’s hand. ‘“ Never mind though ; 
you'll be back next half, and I sha’n’t forget the house of 
Rimmon.” 

Arthur’s mother got up and walked with him to the 
door, and there gave him her hand again, and again his 
eye met that deep loving look, which was like a spell 
upon him. Her voice trembled slightly as she said, 
“Good night) you are one who knows what our Father 
has promised to the friend of the widow and the father- 
less. May He deal with you as you have dealt with me 
and mine!”’ 

Tom was quite upset; he mumbled something about 
owing everything good in him to Geordie—looked in her 


face again, pressed her hand to his lips, and rushed down 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 359 


stairs to his study, where he sat till old Thomas came 
kicking at the door, to tell him his allowance would be 
stopped if he didn’t go off to bed. (It would have been 
stopped anyhow, but that he was a great favorite with 
the old gentleman, who loved to come out in the after- 
noons into the close to Tom’s wicket, and bowl slow 
twisters to him, and talk of the glories of bygone Surrey 
heroes, with whom he had played former generations.) 
So Tom roused himself, and took up his candle to go to 
bed ; and then for the first time was aware of a beautiful 
new fishing rod, with old Eton’s mark on it, and a splen- 
didly bound Bible, which lay on his table, on the title- 
page of which was written — “Tom Brown, from his 
affectionate and grateful friends, Frances Jane Arthur ; 
George Arthur.” =< 


I leave you all to guess how he slept, and what he 
dreamt of. 


360 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


CHAPTER VII. 
HARRY EASTS DILEMMAS AND DELIVERANCES. 


*The Holy Supper is kept indeed, 
In whatso we share with another’s need— 
Not that which we give, but what we share, 
For the gift without the giver is bare: 
Who bestows himself with his alms feeds three, 
Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me.” 
LowEL_L: The Vision of Sir Launfal. 


THE next morning, after breakfast, Tom, East, and 
Gower met as usual to learn their second lesson together. 
Tom had been considering how to break his proposal of 
giving up the crib to the others, and having found no 
better way (as indeed none better can ever be found by 
any man or boy), told them simply what had happened; 
how he had been to see Arthur, who had talked to him 
upon the subject, and what he had said, and for his part 
he had made up his mind, and wasn’t going to use cribs 
any more: and not being quite sure of his ground, took 
the high and pathetic tone, and was proceeding to say, 
“how that having learned his lessons with them for so 
many years, it would grieve him much to put an end to 
the arrangement, and he hoped at any rate that if they 
wouldn’t go on with him, they should still be just as 
good friends, and respect one another’s motives—but—’” 

Here the other boys, who had been listening with 
open eyes and ears, burst in— 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 36 t 


«Stuff and nonsense!” cried Gower. “ Here, East, 
get down the crib and find the place.” 

“Oh, Tommy, Tommy!”’ said East, proceeding to 
do as he was bidden, “ that it should have ever come to 
this. I knew Arthur’d be the ruin of you some day, and 
you of me. And now the time’s come”—and he made a 
doleful face. 

“T don’t know about ruin,” answered Tom; “I know 
that you and I would have had the sack long ago if it 
hadn’t been for him. And you know it as well as I.” 

“Well, we were in a baddish way before he came, I 
own ; but this new crotchet of his is past a joke.” 

“Let’s give it a trial, Harry ; come—you know how 
often he has been right and we wrong.” 

“ Now, don’t you two be jawing away about young 
Square-toes,” struck in Gower. “ He’snoend of a suck- 
ing wiseacre, I dare say, but we’ve no'time to lose, and 
I’ve got the fives’-court at half-past nine.” 

“T say, Gower,” said Tom appealingly, “be a good 
fellow, and let’s try if we can’t get on without the crib.” 

“What! in this chorus? Why, we sha’n’t get through 
ten lines.” 

“T say, Tom,” cried East, having hit on a new idea, 
“don’t you remember, when We were in the upper fourth, 
and old Momus caught me construing off the leaf of a 
crib which I'd torn out and put in my book, and which 
would float out on to the floor, he sent me up to be 
flogged for it?” 

“Yes, I remember it very well.” 


362 TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


“Well, the Docter, after he’d flogged me, told me 
himself that he didn’t flog me for using a translation, but 
for taking it into lesson, and using it there when I hadn’t 
learned a word before I came in. He said there was no 
harm in using a translation to get a clue to hard pas- 
sages, if you tried all you could first to make them out 
without.” é 

“ Did he, though?” said Tom; “then Arthur must 
be wrong.” 

“Of course he is,” said Gower, “the little prig. 
We'll only use the crib when we can’t construe without 
it. Go ahead, East.” 

And on this agreement they started: Tom satisfied 
with having made his confession, and not sorry to have 
a locus poenitentize, and not to be deprived altogether of 
the use of his old and faithful friend. 

The boys went on as usual, each taking a sentence in 
turn, and the crib being handed to the one whose turn it 
was to construe. Of course Tom couldn't object to this, 
as, was it not simply lying there to be appealed to in case 
the sentence should prove too hard altogether for the 
construer ? But it must be owned that Gower and East 
did not make very tremendous exertions to conquer their 
sentences before having recourse to its help. Tom, 
however, with the most heroic virtue and gallantry 
rushed into his sentence, searching in a high-minded 
manner for nominative and verb, and turning over his 
dictionary frantically for the first hard word that stopped 
him. But in the mean time Gower, who was bent on 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 363 


getting to fives, would peep quietly into the crib, and 
then suggest, “ Don’t you think this is the meaning ?— 
I think you must take it this way, Brown ;” andas Tom. 
didn’t see his way to not profiting by these suggestions, 
the lesson went on about as quickly as usual, and Gower 
was able to start for the fives’-court within five minutes 
of the half-hour. 

When Tom and East were left face to face, they 
looked at one another for a minute, Tom puzzled and 
East chock-full of fun, and then burst into a roar of 
laughter. 

“Well, Tom,” said East, recovering himself, “ I don’t 
see any objection to the new way. It’s about as good as 
the old one, I think, besides the advantage it gives one 
of feeling virtuous, and looking down on one’s neigh- 
bors. 

Tom shoved his hand into his back hair. “TI ain’t 
so sure,” said he; “you two fellows carried me off my 
legs. I don’t think we really tried one sentence fairly. 
Are you sure you remember what the Doctor said to 
you?” 

“Yes. And I'll swear I couldn’t make out one of 
my sentences to-day. No, nor ever could. I really 
don’t remember,” said East, speaking slowly and im- 
pressively, “to have come across one Latin or Greek 
sentence this half that I could go and construe by the 
light of nature ; whereby I am sure Providence intended 
cribs to be used.” 

“ The thing to find out,” said Tom, meditatively, “is 


36 4 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS 


how long one ought to grind at a sentence without look- 
ing at the crib. Now, I think if one fairly looks out all 
. the words one don’t know, and then can’t hit it, that’s 
enough.” 

“ To be sure, Tommy,” said East, demurely, but, with 
a merry twinkle in his eye. ‘Your new doctrine, too, 
old fellow,” added he, “ when one comes to think of it, 
is a cutting at the root of all school morality. You'll 
take away mutual help, brotherly love, or, in the vulgar 
tongue, giving construes, which I hold to be one of our 
highest virtues. Fcr how can you distinguish between 
getting a construe from another boy and using a crib? 
Hang it, Tom, if you’re going to deprive all our school- 
fellows of the chance of exercising Christian benevolence 
and being good Samaritans, I shall cut the concern.” 

“JT wish you wouldn't joke about it, Harry ; it’s hard 
to see one’s way—a precious sight harder than I thought 
last night. But I suppose there’s a use and an abuse of 
both, and one’ll get straight enough somehow. But you 
can’t make out, anyhow, that one has a right to use old 
vulgus-books and copy-books.” | 

“ Hullo, more heresy! How fast a fellow goes down 
hill when he once gets his head before his legs. Listen 
to me, Tom. Not use old vulgus-books ?—why, you 
Goth ! ain’t we to take the benefit of the wisdom, and 
admire and use the work, of past generations? Not use 
old copy-books! Why, you might as well say we ought 
to pull down Westminster Abbey, and put up a go-to- 
meeting shop, with churchwarden windows, or never 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 365 


read Shakspeare, but only Sheridan Knowles. Think 
-of all the work and labor that our predecessors have be- 
stowed on these very books, and are we to make their 
work of no value ?”’ 

“TI say, Harry, please don’t chaff ; I’m really serious.” 

“And then, is it not our duty to consult the pleasure 
of others rather than our own, and above all that of our 
masters? Fancy, then, the difference to them in look- 
ing over a vulgus which has been carefully touched and 
retouched by themselves and others, and which must 
bring them a sort of dreamy pleasure, as if they'd met 
the thought or expression of it somewhere or another— 
before they were born, perhaps; and that of cutting up 
and making picture-frames round your and my false 
quantities, and other monstrosities. Why, Tom, you 
wouldn’t be so cruel as never to let old Momus hum over 
the ‘O genus humanum ’ again, and then look up doubt- 
ingly through his spectacles, and end by smiling and 
giving three extra marks for it—just for old sake’s sake, 
I suppose,” 

“Well,” said Tom, getting up in something as like a 
huff as he was capable of, “its deuced hard that when a 
fellow’s really trying to do what he ought, his best friends 
ll do nothing but chaff him and try to put him down.” 
And he stuck his books under his arm and his hat on 
his head, preparatory to rushing out into the quadrangle, 
to testify with his own soul of the faithlessness of friend- 
ship. 

“ Now, don’t be an ass, Tom,’ said East, catching 

«A 


366 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


hold of him; “you know me well enough by this time; 
my bark’s worse than my bite. You can’t expect to 
ride your new crotchet without anybody’s trying to stick 
a nettle under his tail and make him kick you off, es- 
pecially as we shall all have to go on foot still. But now 
sit down and-let’s go over it again. I'll be as serious as 
a judge.” 

Then Tom sat himself down on the table, and waxed 
eloquent about all the righteousnesses and advantages of 
the new plan, as was his wont whenever he took up any- 
thing; going into it as if his life depended upon it, and 
sparing no abuse which he could think of of the opposite 
method, which he denounced as ungentlemanly, cowardly, 
mean, lying, and no one knows what else besides. “Very 
cool of Tom,” as East thought, but didn’t say, “ seeing 
as how he only came out of Egypt himself last night at 
bed-time.” 

“Well, Tom,” said he at last, “ you see, when you and’ 
I came to school there was none of these sort of notions. 
You may be right—I dare say you are. Only what one 
has always felt about the masters is, that it’s a fair trial 
of skill and last between us and them—like a match at 
foot-ball, or a battle. We're natural enemies in school— 
that’s the fact. We've got to learn so much Latin and 
Greek and do so many verses, and they’ve got to see 
that we do it. If we can slip the collar and do so much 
less without getting caught, that’s one to us. If they 
can get more out of us, or catch us shirking, that’s one 
to them, A\ll’s fair in war but lying. If I run my luck 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 367 
* 


against theirs, and go into school without looking at my 
lessons, and don’t get called up, why am I a snob or a 
sneak ? I don’t tell the master I’ve learnt it. He’s got 
to find out whether I have or not; what’s he paid for? 
If he calls me up and I get floored, he makes me write 
it out in Greek and English. Very good, he’s caught 
me, and I don’t grumble. I grant you, if I go and 
snivel to him, and tell him I’ve really tried to learn it 
but found it so hard without a translation, or say I’ve 
had a toothache or any humbug of that kind, I’ma snob. 
That’s my school morality ; it’s served me and you too, 
Tom, for the matter of that, these five years. And its 
all clear and fair, no mistake about it. We understand 
it, and they understand it, and I don't know what we're 
to come to with any other.” 

Tom looked at him pleased, anda little puzzled. He 
had never heard East speak his mind seriously before, 
and couldn’t help feeling how completely he had hit his 
own theory and practice up to that time. 

“Thank you, old fellow,” said he. “You're a good 
old brick to be serious, and not put out with me. [I said | 
more than I meant, I dare say, only you see I know I’m 
right: whatever you and Gower and the rest do, I shall 
hold on—I must. And as it’s all new and an up-hill 
game, you see, one must hit hard and hold on tight at 
first.” 

“Very good,” said East ; “hold on and hit away, only 
don’t hit under the line.” 


“ But I must bring you over, Harry, or I shaen’t be 


368 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


comfortable. Now, I allow all you've said. We've 
always been honorable enemies with the masters. We 
found a state of war when we came, and went into it of 
course, Only don't you think things are altered a good 
deal? I don’t feel as I used to the masters. They seem 
to me to treat one quite differently.” 


” 


“Yes, perhaps they do,” said East; there’s a new set 
you see mostly, who don’t feel sure of themselves yet. 
They don’t want to fight till they know the ground.” 

“T don’t think it’s only that,” said Tom. “And 
then the Doctor, he does treat one so openly, and like a 
gentleman, and as if one was working with him.” 

“Well, so he does,” said East: “he’s a splendid 
fellow, and when I go into the sixth I. shall act accord- 
‘ingly. Only you know he has nothing to do with our 
lessons now, except examining us. _ I say, though,” look- 
ing at his watch, “it’s just the quarter. Come along.” 

As they walked out, they got a message to say, “that 
Arthur was just starting and would like to say good- 
bye ;” so they went down to the private entrance of the 
-school-house, and found an open carriage, with Arthur 
propped up with pillows in it, looking already better, Tom 
thought. 

They jumped up on the steps to shake hands with 
him, and Tom mumbled thanks for the presents he had 
found in his study, and looked round anxiously for 
Arthur’s mother. 

East, who had fallen back into his usual humor, 
looked quaintly at Arthur, and said— 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 369 


“So you've been at it again, through that hot-headed 
convert of yours there. He’s been making our lives a 
burden to us all the morning about-using cribs. I shall 
get floored to a certainty at second lesson, if I’m called up.” 

Arthur blushed and looked down. Tom struck in— 

“Qh, it’s all right. He’s converted already; he 

always comes through the mud after us, grumbling and 
“sputtering.” 

The clock struck, and they had to go off to school, 
wishing Arthur a pleasant holiday ; Tom lingering be- 
hind a moment to send his thanks and love to Arthur’s 
mother. 

Tom renewed the discussion after second lesson, and 
succeeded so far as to get East to prone to give the 
new plan a fair trial. 

Encouraged by his success, in the evening, when 
they were sitting alone in the large study, where East 
lived now almost, “ vice Arthur on leave,” after examin- 
ing the new fishing-rod, which both pronounced to be a 
genuine article (“ play enough to throw a midge tied on a 
single hair against the wind, and strength enough to hold 
a grampus ”’) they naturally began talking about Arthur. 
Tom, who was still bubbling over with last night’s scene, 
and allthe thoughts of the last week, and wanting to 
clinch and fix the whole in his own mind, which he could 
_never do without first going through the process ot be- 
laboring somebody else with it all, suddenly rushed into 
the subject of Arthur’s illness, and what he had said 


about death. 
24 


370 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


East had given him the desired opening, after a serio- © 
comic grumble, “ that life wasn’t worth having now that 
they were tied to a young beggar who was always ‘ raising 
his standard, and that he (East) was like a prophet’s 
donkey, who was obliged to struggle on after the donkey- 
man who went after the prophet; that he had none of 
the pleasure of starting the new crotchets, and didn’t 
half understand them, but had to take the kicks and 
carry the luggage as if he had all the fun.” He threw 
his legs up on to the sofa, put his hands behind his head, 
and said, 

“Well, after all, he’s the most wonderful little fellow 
I ever came across. There ain’t such a meek, humble 
boy in the school. Hanged if I don’t think now really, 
Tom, that he believes himself a much worse fellow than 
you or I, and that he don’t think he has more influence 
in the house than Dot Bowles, who came last quarter, and 
ain’t ten yet. But he turns you and me round his little 
finger, old boy,—there’s no mistake about that.” And 
East nodded at Tom sagaciously. 

“Now or never!” thought Tom; so shutting his 
eyes and hardening his heart, he went straight at it, re- 
peating all that Arthur had said, as near as he could re- 
member it, in the very words, and all he had _ himself 
thought. The life seemed to ooze out of it as he went 
on, and several times he felt inclined to stop, give it all 
up, and change the subject. But somehow he was borne 
on; he had a necessity upon him to speak it all out, and 
did so. At the end he looked atEast with some anxiety, 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 371 


and was delighted to see that that young gentleman was 
thoughtful and attentive. The fact is, that in the stage 
and of his inner life at which Tom had lately arrived, his 
intimacy with and friendship for East could not have 
lasted if he had not made him aware of, and a sharer in, 
the thoughts that were beginning to exercise him. Nor, 
indeed, could the friendship have lasted if East had 
shown no sympathy with these thoughts ; so that it was 
a great relief to have unbosomed himself, and to have 
found that his friend could listen. 

Tom had always hada sort of instinct that East’s 
levity was only skin-deep, and this instinct was a true 
one. East had no want of reverence for anything he 
felt to be real ; but his was one of those natures that burst 
into what is generally called recklessness and impiety 
the moment they feel that anythingis being poured upon 
them for their good, which does not come home to their 
inborn sense of right, or which appeals to anything like 
self-interest in them. Daring and honest by nature, and 
outspoken to an extent which alarmed all respectabilities, 
with a constant fund of animal health and spirits, which 
he did not feel bound to curb in any way, he had gained 
for himself with the steady part of the school (including 
as well those who wished to appear steady as those who 
really were so) the character of a boy whom it would 
be dangerous to be intimate with, while his own hatred 
of every thing cruel, or underhand, or false, and his 
hearty respect for what he could see to be good and 
true, kept off the rest, 


372 ZUM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


Tom, besides being very like East in many points of 
character, had largely developed in his composition the 
capacity for taking the weakest side. This is not put- 
ting it strongly enough ; it was a necessity with him: he 
couldn’t help it any nore than he could eating or drink- 
ing. He could never play on the strongest side with 
any heart at foot-ball or cricket, and was sure to make 
friends with any boy who was unpopular, or down on 
his luck. 

Now, though East was not what is generally called 
unpopular, Tom felt more and more every day, as their 
characters developed, that he stood alone, and did not 
make friends among their contemporaries ; and therefore 
sought him out. Tom was himself much more popular, 
for his power of detecting humbug was much less acute, 
and his instincts were much more sociable. He was at 
this period of his life, too, largely given to taken people for 
what they gave themselves out to be; but his singleness 
of heart, fearlessness, and honesty were just what East 
appreciated, and thus the two had been drawn into great 
intimacy. 3 

This intimacy had not been interrupted by Tom’s 
guardianship of Arthur. 

East had often, as has been said, joined them in read- 
ing the Bible ; but their discussions had almost always 
turned upon the characters of the men and women of 
whom they read, and not become personal to themselves, 
In fact, the two had shrunk from personal religious dis-_ 
cussion, not knowing how it might end; and fearful of 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 373 


risking a friendship very dear to both, and which they 
felt somehow, without quite knowing why, would never 
be the same, but either tenfold stronger or sapped at its 
foundation, after such a communing together. 

What a bother all this explaining is! I wish we 
could get on without it. But we can’t. However, you'll 
all find, if you haven’t found it out already, that a time 
comes in every human friendship when you must go 
down into the depths of yourself, and lay bare what is 
there to your friend, and wait in fear for his answer. A 
few moments may do it; and it may be (most likely will 
be, as you are English boys) that you never do it but 
once. But done it must be, if the friendship is to be 
worth the name. You must find what is there, at the 
very root and bottom of one another’s hearts ; and if 
you are at one there, nothing on earth can, or at least 
ought to sunder you. - 

East had remained lying down till Tom finished speak- 
ing, as if fearing to interrupt him; he now sat up at the 
table, and leant his head on one hand, taking up a pencil 
with the other, and working little holes with it in the 
table-cover. After a bit he looked up, stopped the 
pencil, and said, “Thank you very much, old fellow; 
there’s no other boy in the house would have done it for 
me but youor Arthur. Ican see well enough,” he went 
on after a pause, “ all the best big fellows look on me 
with suspicion; they think I’m a devil-may-care, reck- 
less young scamp. So I am—eleven hours out of 
twelve, but not the twelfth. Then all of our contem- 


344 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. ° 


poraries worth knowing follow suit, of course ; we’re very 
good friends at games and all that, but not a soul of 
them but you and Arthur ever tried to break through the 
crust, and see whether there was anything at the bottom 
of me ; and then the bad ones I won’t stand, and they 
know that.” 

“ Don’t you think that’s half fancy, Harry ?”’ 

“Not a bit of it,” said East bitterly, pegging away 
with his pencil. “I see it all plain enough. Bless 
you, you think everybody’s.as straightforwar dand kind- 
hearted as you are.” 

“Well, but what’s the reason of it? There must be 
areason. You can play all the games as well as anyone, 
and sing the best song, and are the best company in the 
house. You fancy you're not liked, Harry. It’s all 
fancy.” . 

“T only wish it was, Tom. I know I could be popu- 
lar enough with all the bad ones, but that I won’t have, 
and the good ones won’t have me.” 

“Why not?” persisted Tom; “you don’t drink or 
swear, or get out at night; you never bully, or cheat at 
lessons. If you only showed you liked it, you’d hava 
all the best fellows in the house running after you.” 

“Not I,” said East. Then with an effort he went on, 
“T’'ll tell you what it is. I never stop to the sacrament, 
I can see, from the Doctor downwards, how that tells 
against me.” 

“Yes, I’ve seen that,” said Tom, “and I’ve been 
very sorry tor it, and Arthur and I have talked about it, 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. ey 7 


I’ve often thought of speaking to you, but it’s so hard to 
begin on such subjects. I’m very glad you’ve opened 
it. Now, why don’t you?” 

“Tye never been confirmed,” said East. 

“Not been confirmed!” said Tom in astonishment. 
“T never thought of that. Why weren’t you confirmed 
with the rest of us nearly three years ago? I always 
_ thought you’d been confirmed at home.” 

“No,” answered East sorrowfully; “you see this 
was how it happened. Last confirmation was soon after 
Arthur came, and you were so taken up with him, I 
hardly saw either of you. Well, when the Doctor sent 
around for us about it, I was living mostly with Green’s 
set—you know the sort. They all went in—I dare 
say it was all right, and that they got good by it; I 
don’t want to judge them. Only all I could see of 
their reasons drove me just the other way. *Iwas 
‘because the doctor liked it ;’ ‘no boy got on who didn't 
stay to the sacrament ;’ it was ‘the correct thing,’ in 
fact, like having a good hat to wear on Sundays. I 
couldn’t stand it. I didn’t feel that I wanted to lead a 
different life, and I was very well content as I was, and 
I wasn’t going to sham religious to curry favor with the 
Doctor, or any one else.” | 

East stopped speaking, and pegged away more dili- 
gently than ever with his pencil. Tom was ready to cry. 
He felt half sorry at first that he had been confirmed 
himself. He seemed to have deserted his earliest 

friend, to have left him by himself at his worst need for 


376 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


those long years. He got up and went and sat by East 
and put his arm over his shoulder. 

oa Dear old boy,” he said, “ how careless and selfish 

e been. But why didn’t you come and talk to Arthur 
and me?” 

“T wish to heaven I had,” said East, “but I was a 
fool. It’s too late talking of it now.” 

“Why too late? You want to be confirmed now, 
don’t you?” 

“T think so,” said East. “I’ve thought about it a 
good deal; only often I fancy I must be changing, be- 
cause I see it’s to do me good here, just what stopped 
me last time. And then I go back again.” 


b) 


“T’ll tell you how ’twas with me,” said Tom, warmly. 
“Tf it hadn't been for Arthur, I’d have done just as you 
did. I hope I should. JI honor you for it. But then 
he made it out just as if it was taking the weak side 
before all the world, going in, once for all, against 
everything that’s strong, and rich, and proud, and re- 
spectable,—a little band of brothers against the whole 
world. And the Doctor seemed to say so too, only he. 
said a great deal more.” 

“Ah!” groaned East, “but there again, that’s just 
another of my difficulties whenever I think about the 
matter. I don’t want to be one of your saints, one of 
your elect, whatever the right phrase is. My sympathies 
are all the other way—with the many, the poor devils 
who run about the streets and don’t goto church. Don’t 
stare, Tom ; mind, I’m telling you all that’s in my heart 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 3:7 


—as far as I know it—but it’s all a muddle. You must be 
gentle with me if you want to land me. Now, I’ve seen 
a deal of this sort of religion; I was bred up in it, and I 
can’t stand it. If nineteen-twentieths of the world are to 
be left to uncovenanted mercies, and that sort of thing, 
which means in plain English to go to hell, and the other 
twentieth are to rejoice at it all, why—” 

“Oh! but, Harry, they ain’t—they don’t,” broke in 
Tom, really shocked. “Oh, how I wish Arthur hadn't 
gone! I’m such a fool about these things. But it’s all 
you want too, East ; itis indeed. It cuts both ways, some- 
how, being confirmed and taking the sacrament. It makes 
you feel on the side of all the good and all the bad too 
—of everybody in the world. Only there’s some great 
dark, strong power, which is crushing you and every- 
body else. That’s what Christ conquered, and we’ve 
got to fight. What a fool Iam! Ican’t explain. If 
Arthur were only here! ” 

“I begin to get a glimmering of what you mean,” 
said East. 

“T say now,’ said Tom, eagerly, “do you remember 
how we both hated Flashman ?” 

“Of course I do,” said East. “I hate him still. 
What then?” 

“Well, when I came to take the sacrament, I had a 
great struggle about that. I tried to put him out of my 
head; and when I couldn’t do that, I tried to think of 
him as evil, as something that the Lord who was loving 
me hated, and which I might hatetoo. But it wouldn’t 


348 TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


do. I broke down. I believe Christ himself broke me 
down ; and when the Doctor gave me the bread and 
wine, and leant over me praying, I prayed for poor 
Flashman, as if it had been you or Arthur.” 

East buried his face in his hands on the table. Tom 
could feel the table tremble. At last he looked up. 
“Thank you again, Tom,” he said; “ you don’t know © 
what you may have done for me to-night. I think I see 
now how the right sort of sympathy with poor devils is 
got at.” 

“ And you'll stop to the sacrament next time, won't 
you?” said Tom. 

“Can I, before I’m confirmed ?” 

“ Go and ask the Doctor.” 

“T will.” 

That very night, after prayers, East followed the 
Doctor and the old verger bearing the candle, up stairs. 
Tom watched, and saw the Doctor turn round when he 
heard the footsteps following him closer than usual, and 
say, “Hah, East! Do you want to speak to me, my 
man?” 

“Tf you please, sir ;”’ and the private door closed, and 
Tom went to his study in a state of great trouble of mind. 


It was almost an hour before East came back: then 
he rushed in breathless. 

“Well, it’s all right,” he shouted, seizing Tom by the 
hand. “JI feel as if aton weight were off my mind.” 

“ Hurrah,” said Tom. “I knew it would be, but tell 
us all about it.” 


TOM BEOWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 379 


“Well, I just told him all about it. You can’t think 
how kind and gentle he was, the great grim man, whom 
I’ve feared more than anybody on earth. When I stuck, 
he lifted me, just as if I’d been a little child. And he 
seemed to know all I’d felt, and to have gone through it 
all. And I burst out crying—more than I’ve done this 
five years, and he sat down by me, and stroked my head ; 
and I went blundering on, and told him all; much worse 
things than I’ve told you. And he wasnt’t shocked a bit, 
and didn’t snub me, or tell me I was a fool, and it was 
all nothing but pride or wickedness, tho’ I dare say it 
was. And he didn’t tell me not to follow out my 
thoughts, and he didn’t give me any cut-and-dried expla- 
nation. But when I’d done he just talked a bit—I can 
hardly remember what he said, yet ; but it seemed to 
spread round me like healing, and strength, and light ; 
and to bear me up, and plant me ona rock, where I could 
hold my footing, and fight for myself. I don’t know 
what to do, I feel so happy. And it’s all owing to yous 
dear old boy!” and he seized Tom’s hand again. 

“ And you're to come to the communion ?”’ said Tom. 

“Yes, and to be confirmed in the holidays.” 

Tom’s delight was as great as his friend’s. But he 
hadn't yet had out all his own talk, and was bent on im- 
proving the occasion; so he proceeded to propound 
Arthur’s theory about not being sorry for his friends’ 
deaths, which he had hitherto kept in the background, 
and by which he was much exercised ; for he didn’t feel 
it honest to take what pleased him and throw over the 


380 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


rest, and was trying vigorously to persuade himself that 
he should like all his best friends to die off-hand. 

But East’s powers of remaining serious were ex- 
hausted, and in five minutes he was saying the most 
ridiculous things he could think of, till Tom was almost 
getting angry again. 

Despite of himself, however, he couldn’t help laugh- 
ing and giving it up, when East appealed to him with 
“Well, Tom, you ain’t going to punch my head, I hope, 
because I insist upon being sorry when you got to 
earth ?” 

And so their talk finished for that time, and they tried 
to learn first lesson; with very poor success, as appeared 
next morning, when they were called up and narrowly 
escaped being floored, which ill-luck, howeve#. did not 
sit heavily on either of their souls, 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 381 


CHAPTER VIII. 


TOM BROWN’S LAST MATCH. 


“ Heaven grant the manlier heart, that timely, ere 
Youth fly, with life’s real tempest would be coping: 
The fruit of dreamy hoping 
Is, waking, blank despair.” 
CLoucH: A mbarvalia. 

THE curtain now rises,upon the last act of our little 
drama—for heard-hearted publishers warn me thata sin- 
gle volume must of necessity have an end. Well, well! 
the pleasantest things must come to an end. I little 
thought last long vacation, when I began these pages to 
help while away some spare time at a watering-place, how 
vividly many an old scene, which had lain hid away for 
years in some dusty old corner of my brain, would come 
back again, and stand before me as clear and bright as if 
it had happened yesterday. The book has been a most 
grateful task to me, and I only hope that all of you, my 
dear young friends who read it (friends assuredly you 
must be, if you get as far as this), will be half as sorry 
to come to the last stage as I am. 

Not but what there has been a solemn and a sad side 
to it. As the old scenes became living, and the actors 
in them became living too, many a grave in the Crimea 
and distant India, as well as in the quiet churchyards of 
our dear old country, seemed to open and send forth their 


382 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


dead, and their voices and looks and ways were again in 
one’s ears and eyes, as in the old school-days. But this 
was not sad; how should it be, if we believe as our Lord 
has taught us? How should it be, when one more turn 
of the wheel, and we shall be by their sides again, learn- 
ing from them again, perhaps, as we did when we were 
new boys? 

Then there were others of the old faces so dear to us 
once, who had somehow or another just gone clean out of 
sight—are they dead or living? We know not, but the 
thought of them brings no sadness with it. Wherever 
they are, we can well believe they are doing God’s work 
and getting His wages. 

But are there not some, whom westill see sometimes 
in the streets, whose haunts and homes we know, whom 
we could probably find almost any day in the week if we 
were set to do it, yet from whom we are really farther 
than we are from the dead, and from those who have 
gone out of ourken? Yes, there are and must be such; 
and thereitf lies the sadness of old school memories. Yet 
' of these our old comrades, from whom more than time 
and space separate us, there are some by whose side we 
can feel sure that we shall stand again when time shall 
be no more. We may think of one another now as 
dangerous fanatics or narrow bigots, with whom no truce 
is possible, from whom we shall only sever more and 
more to the end of our lives, whom it would be our re- 
spective duties to imprison or hang, if we had the power. 
We must go our way, and they theirs, as long as flesh 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 383 


and spirit hold together; but let our own Rugby poet 
speak words of healing for this trial :— 


“To veer how vain! on, onward strain, 
Brave barks! in light, in darkness too ; 
Through winds and tides one compass guides ; 
To that, and your own selves, be true. 


“ But, O blithe breeze! and O great seas! 
Though ne’er, that earliest parting past, 
On your wide plain they join again, 
Together lead them home at last. 


‘One port, methought, alike they sought, 
One purpose hold where’er they fare. 

O bounding breeze ! O rushing seas! 
At last, at last, unite them there!” * 


This is not mere longing, it is prophecy. So over 
these too, our old friends who are friends no more, we 
sorrow not as men without hope. It is only for those 
who seem to us to have lost compass and purpose, and 
to be driven helplessly on rocks and quicksands ; whose 
lives are spent in the service of the world, the flesh, and 
the devil; for self alone, and not for their fellow-men, 
their country, or their God, that we must mourn and 
pray without sure hope and without light; trusting only 
that He, in whose hands they as well as we are, who 
has died for them as well as for us, who sees all His 
creatures 


“With larger, other eyes than ours, 
To make allowance for us all,” 


* CLOUGH: A mbarvalia, 


334 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


will, in His own way and at His own time, lead them 
also home. 
* x ® x 

Another two years have passed, and it is again the 
end of the summer half-year at Rugby; in fact, the 
school has broken up. The fifth-form examinations were 
over last week, and upon them have followed the speeches, 
and the sixth-form examinations for exhibitions; and 
they too are over now. The boys have gone to all the 
winds of heaven, except the town boys and the eleven, 
and the few enthusiasts besides who have asked leave to 
stay in their houses to see the result of the cricket 
matches. For this year the Wellesburn return match 
and the Marylebone match are played at Rugby, to the 
great delight of the town and neighborhood, and the 
sorrow of those aspiring young cricketers who have been 
reckoning for the last three months on showing off at 
Lords’ ground. 

The Doctor started for the Lakes yesterday morning, 
ufter an interview with the captain of the eleven, in the 
presence of Thomas, at which he arranged in what 
‘schoo! the cricket dinners were to be, and all other 
matters necessary for the satisfactory carrying out of the 
festivities ; and warned them as to keeping all spirituous 
liquors out of the close, and having the gates closed by 
nine o'clock. 

The Wellesburn match was played out with great 
SUCCESS yesterday, the school winning by three wickets; 
and to-day the great event of the cricketing year, the 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 385 


Marylebone match, is being played. What a match it, 
has been! The London eleven came down by an after- 
noon train yesterday, in time to see the end of the 
Wellesburn match ; and as soon as it was over, their 
leading men and umpire inspected the ground, criticizing 
it rather unmercifully. The captain of the school eleven, 
and one or two others, who had played the Lords’ match 
before, and knew old Mr. Aislabie and several of the 
Lords’ men, accompanied them ; while the rest of the 
eleven looked oi from under the Three Trees with ad- 
miring eyes, and asked one another the names of the 
illustrious strangers, and recounted how many runs each 
of them had made in the late matches in Bell’s Life. 
They looked such hard-bitten, wiry, whiskered fellows, 
that their young adversaries felt rather desponding as to 
the result of the morrow’s match. The ground was at 
last chosen, and two men set to work upon it to water 
and roll; and then, there being yet some half-hour of 
daylight, some one had suggested a dance on the turf. 
The close was half full of citizens and their families, 
and the idea was hailed with enthusiasm. The cornopean 
player was yet on the ground; in five minutes the 
eleven and half-a-dozen of the Wellesburn and Maryle- 
bone men got partners somehow or another, and a 
merry country-dance was going on, to which every one 
flocked, and new couples joined in every minute, till 
there were a hundred of them going down the middle 
and up again; and the long line of school buildings 
looked gravely down on them, every window glowing 


386 "TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


with the last rays of the western sun, and the rooks 
clanged about in the tops of the old elms, greatly excited, 
and resolved on having their country-dance too, and the 
great flag flapped lazily in the gentle western breeze 
Altogether it was a sight which would have made glad 
the heart of our brave old founder, Lawrence Sheriff, if 
he were half as good a fellow as I take him to have been. 
It was a cheerful sight to see; but what made it so 
valuable in the sight of the captain of the school eleven 
was, that he there saw his young hands shaking off their 
shyness and awe of the Lords’ men, as they crossed 
hands and capered about on the grass together ; for the 
strangers entered into it all, and threw away their cigars, 
and danced and shouted like boys, while old Mr. Aislabie 
stood by looking on in his white hat, leaning on a bat, 
in benevolent enjoyment. “This hop will be worth 
thirty runs to us to-morrow, and will be the making of 
Raggles and Johnson,” thinks the young leader, as he 
revolves many things in his mind, standing by the side 
of Mr. Aislabie, whom he will not leave for a minute, for 
he feels that the character of the school for courtesy is 
resting on his shoulders. 

But when a quarter to nine struck, and he saw old 
Thomas beginning to fidget about with the keys in his 
hand, he thought of the Doctor’s parting monition, and 
stopped the cornopean at once, notwithstanding the loud- 
voiced remonstrances from all sides; and the crowd 
scattered away from the close, the eleven all going into 
the school-house, where supper and beds were provided 


for them by the Doctor's orders. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 387 


Deep had been the consultations at supper as to 
the order of going in, who should bowl the first over, 
whether it would be best to play steady or freely. The 
youngest hands declared that they shouldn’t be a bit 
nervous, and praised their opponents as the jolliest fel- 
lows in the world, except perhaps their old friends the 
Wellesburn men. How far a little good-nature from 
their elders will go with the right sort of boys! 

The morning had dawned bright and warm, to the 
intense relief of many an anxious youngster, up betimes 
to mark the signs of the weather. The eleven went 
down in a body before breakfast for a plunge in the cold 
bath in the corner of the close. The ground was in 
splendid order, and soon after ten o'clock, before spec- 
tators had arrived, all was ready, and two of the Lords’ 
men took their places at the wicket, the school, with the 
usual liberality of young hands, having put their adver- 
saries in first. Old Bailey stepped up to the wicket and 
called play, and the match has begun. 

* * # # * ¥ * * 

“Oh, well bowled! well bowled, Johnston!” cries the 
captain, catching up the ball and sending it high above 
the rook trees, while the third Marylebone man walks 
away from the wicket, and old Bailey gravely sets up the » 
middle stump again and puts the bails on. 

“How many runs?” Away scamper three boys to 
the scoring-table, and are back again in a minute amongst 
the rest of the eleven, who. are collected together in a 
knot between wicket, “Only eighteen runs, and three 


388 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


wickets down!” “Huzza, for old Rugby!” sings out 
Jack Raggles the long-stop, toughest and burliest of 
boys, commonly called ‘Swiper Jack;’ and forthwith 
stands on his head, and brandishes his legs in the air in 
triumph, till the next boy catches hold of his heels, and 
throws him over on to his back. 

“ Steady there ; don’t be such an ass, Jack,” says the 
captain ; “we haven't got the best wicket yet. Ah, look 
out now at cover-point,” adds he, as he sees a long- 
armed, bare-headed, slashing-looking player coming to 
the wicket. “ And, Jack, mind your hits; he steals 
more runs than any man in England.” 

And they all find that they have got their work to do 
now; the new-comer’s off-hitting is tremendous, and his 
running like a flash of lightning. He is never in his 
ground except when his wicket is down. Nothing in 
the whole game so trying to boys; he has stolen three 
byes in the first ten minutes, and Jack Raggles is furious, 
and begins throwing over savagely to the further wicket, 
until he is sternly stopped by the captain. It is all that 
young gentleman can do to keep his team steady, but he 
knows that everything depends on it, and faces his work 
bravely. The score creeps up to fifty, the boys begin to 
look blank, and the spectators, who are, now mustering 
strong, are very silent. The ball flies off his bat to all 
parts of the field, and he gives no rest and no catches to 
any one. But cricket is full of glorious chances, and the 
goddess who presides over it loves to bring down the 
most skilful player. Johnson the young bowler is get- 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 389 


ting wild, and bowls a ball almost wide to the off ; 
the batter steps out and cuts it beautifully to where 
cover-point is standing very deep, in fact almost off the 
ground. The ball comes skimming and twisting along 
about three feet from the ground; he rushes at it, and 
it sticks somehow or other in the fingers of his left hand, 
to the utter astonishment of himself and the whole field. 
Such a catch hasn’t been made in the close for years, 
and the cheering is maddening. “ Pretty cricket,” says 
the captain, throwing himself on the ground by the de- 
serted wicket with a long breath ; he feels that a crisis 
has passed. 

I wish I had space to describe the whole match ; how 
the captain stumped the next man off a leg-shooter, and 
bowled slow cobs to old Mr. Aislabie, who came in for 
the last wicket. How the Lords’ men were out by half- 
past twelve o'clock for ninety-eight runs. How the cap- 
tain of the school eleven went in first to give his men 
pluck, and scored twenty-five in beautiful style; how 
Rugby was only four behind in the first innings. What 
a glorious dinner they had in the fourth-form school, and 
how the cover-point hitter sang the most topping comic 
songs, and old Mr. Aislabie made the best speeches that 
ever were heard, afterwards. But Ihaven’t space, that’s 
the fact, and so you must fancy it all, and carry your- 
selves on to half-past seven o'clock, when the school are 
again in, with five wickets down and only thirty-two runs 
to make to win. The Marylebone men played carelessly 
in their second innings, but they are working like horses 
now to save the matchy 


390 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


There is much healthy, hearty, happy life scattered 
up and down the close ; but the group to which I beg to 
call your especial attention is there, on the slope of the 
island, which looks towards the cricket-ground. It con- 
sists of three figures ; two are seated on a bench, and 
one on the ground at their feet. The first, a tall, slight, 
and rather gaunt man, with a bushy eyebrow, and a dry, 
humorous smile, is evidently a clergyman. He is care- 
lessly dressed, and looks rather used up, which isn’t much 
to be wondered at, seeing that he has just finished six 
weeks of examination work ; but there he basks, and 
spreads himself out in the evening sun, bent on enjoying 
life, though he doesn’t quite know what to do with his 
arms and legs. Surely it is our friend the young mas- 
ter, whom we have had glimpses of before, but his face 
has gained a great deal since we last came across him. 

And by his side, in white flannel shirt and trousers, 
straw hat, the captain’s belt, and the untanned yellow 
cricket shoes which all the eleven wear, sits a strapping 
figure, nearly six feet high, with ruddy tanned face and 
whiskers, curly brown hair and a laughing, dancing eye. 
He is leaning forward with his elbows resting on his 
knees, and dandling his favorite bat, with which he has 
made thirty or forty runs to-day, in his strong brown 
hands. It is Tom Brown, grown into a young man nine- 
teen years old, a prepostor and captain of the eleven, 
spending his last day as a Rugby-boy, and let us hope 
as much wiser as he is bigger, since we last had the 


pleasure of coming across him. 


TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL-DAYS, 361 

And at their feet on the warm dry ground, similarly 
dressed, sits Arthur, Turkish fashion, w:th his bat across 
his knees. He too is no longer a boy, less of a boy in 
fact than Tom, if one may judge from the thoughtful- 
ness of his face, which is somewhat paler, too, than one 
could wish; but his figure, though slight, is well-knit 
and active, and all his old timidity has disappeared, and 
is replaced by silent quaint fun, with which his face 
twinkles all over, as he listens to the broken talk be- 
tween the other two, in which he joins every now and 
then. | 

All three are watching the game eagerly, and joining 
in the cheering which follows every good hit. It is 
pleasing to see the easy friendly footing which the pupils 
are on with their master, perfectly respectful, yet with 
no reserve and nothing forced in their intercourse. Tom 
has clearly abandoned the old theory of “ natural enemies” 
in this case at any rate. 

But it is time to listen to what they are saying, and 
see what we can gather out of it. 

“TI don’t object to your theory,” says the master, 
“and I allow you have made a fair case for yourself. 
But now, in such books as Aristophanes, for instance, 
you’ve been reading a play this half with the Doctor, 
haven't you.” ' 

“Ves, the Knights,” answered Tom. 

“Well, I’m sure you would have enjoyed the wonder- 
ful humor of it twice as much if you had taken more 


pains with your scholarship.” 


392 TOM BROWN'S SCHOOI-DAYS. 


“Well, sir, I don’t believe any boy in the form en- 
joyed the sets-to between Cleon and the Sausage-seller 
more than I dia—eh, Arthur?” said Tom, giving hima 
stir with his foot. 

“Yes, I must say he did,” said Arthur. “I think, 
sir, you've hit upon the wrong book there.” 

“Not a bit of it,’ said the master. ‘“ Why, in those 
very passages of arms, how can you thoroughly appreciate 
them unless you are master of the weapons? and the 
weapons are the language, which you, Brown, have never 
half worked at ; and so, as I say, you must have lost all 
the delicate shades of meaning which make the best part 
of the fun. | 

“Oh! well played—bravo, Johnson!” shouted Ar- 
thur, dropping his hat and clapping furiously, and Tom 
joined in with a “ Bravo, Johnson!” which might have 
been heard at the chapel. : 

“Eh! what was it? I didn’t see,” inquired the mas- 
ter; “they only got one run, I thought?” 

“No, but such a ball, three-quarters length and com- 
ing straight for his leg bail. Nothing but that turn of 
the wrist could have saved him, and he drew it away to 
leg for a safe one. Bravo, Johnson !” 

“ How well they are bowling, though,” said Arthur ; 
“they don’t mean to be beat, I can see.” 

“There now,” struck in the master, “ you see that’s 
just what I have been preaching this half hour. The 
delicate play is the true thing. I don’t understand 
cricket, so I don’t enjoy those fine draws which you tell 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 36 3 


me are the best play, though when you or Rageles hit a 
ball hard away for six I am as delighted as any one. 
Don’t you see the analogy ?” 

“ Yes, sir,’ answered Tom, looking up roguishly, “I 
see ; only the question remains whether I should have 
got most good by understanding Greek particles or 
cricket thoroughly. I’m. such a thick, I never should 
have had time for both.” 

“T see you are incorrigible,’ said the master, witha 
chuckle; “but I refute you by an example. Arthur 
there has taken in Greek and cricket too.” 

“Yes, but no thanks to him; Greek came natural to 
him. Why, when he first came I remember he used to 
read Herodotus for pleasure as I did Don Quixote, and 
couldn’t have made a false concord if he’d tried ever so 
hard—and then I looked after his cricket.” 

“Out! Bailey has given him out—do you see, 
Tom?” cries Arthur. “ How foolish of them to run so 
hard.” 

“Well, it can’t be helped; he has played very well. 
Whose turn is it to go in?” 

“JT don’t know; they’ve got your list in the tent.” 

“Let's go and see,” said Tom, rising; but at this 
moment Jack Raggles and two or three more came run- 
ning to the island moat. 

“Oh, Brown, mayn’t I go in next?” shouts the 
Swiper. 

_“ Whose name is next on the list?” says the cap- 


tain, 


394 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 

“Winter's, and then Arthur's,” answers the boy 
who carries it; “but there’s only twenty-six runs to 
get, and no time to lose. I heard Mr. Aislabie say that 
the stumps must be drawn at a quarter past eight 
exactly.” 


’ 


“Oh, do let the Swiper go in,” chorus the boys; so 
Tom yielded against his’ better judgment. 

“JT dare say now I’ve lost the match by this non- 
sense,’ he says, as he sits down again; “they'll be 
sure to get Jack’s wicket in three or four minutes; 
however, you'll have the chance, sir, of seeing a hard 
hit or two,’ adds he, smiling, and turning to the 
master. ; 

“Come, none of your irony, Brown,” answers the 
master. -“ I’m beginning to understand the game scien- 
tifically. What anoble game it is too!” 

“Isn't it? But it’s more than a game—it’s an 
institution,’ said Tom. 

“Ves,” said Arthur, “the birthright of British boys, 
old and young, as Aabeas corpus and trial by jury are 
of British men.” 

“ The discipline and reliance on one another which 
it teaches is so valuable, I think,’ went on the master, 
“it ought to be such an unselfish game. It merges the 
individual in the eleven; he doesn’t play that he may 
win, but that his side may.” 

“ That’s very true,” said Tom, “and that’s why foot- 
ball and cricket, now one comes to think of it, are so 
much better games than fives’ or hare-and-hounds, or 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. > 308 


any others where the object is to come in first or to win 
for one’s self, and not that one’s side may win.” 

“And then the captain of the eleven!” said the 
master, “ what a post is his in our school world! almost 
as hard as the Doctor’s; requiring skill and gentleness 
and firmness, and I know not what other rare qualities.” 

“ Which don’t he may wish he may get?” said Tom, 
laughing ; “at any rate he hasn’t got them yet, or he 
wouldn't have been such a flat to-night as to let Jack 
Raggles go in out of his turn.” 

“ Ah! the Doctor never would have done that,” said 
Arthur, demurely. “Tom, you've a great deal to learn 
yet in the art of ruling.” 

“ Well, I wish you'd tell the Doctor so, then, and get 
him to let me stop till I’m twenty. I don’t want to 
leave, I’m sure.” 

“What a sight it is,’ broke in the master, “the 
Doctor as a ruler. Perhaps ours is the only little corner 
of the British empire which is thoroughly, wisely, and 
strongly ruled just now. I’m more and more thankful 
every day of my life that I came here to be under him.” 

“So*am I, I’m sure,” said Tom; “and more and 
more sorry that I've got to leave.” 

“Every place and thing one sees here reminds one 
of some wise act of his,’ went on ‘the master. “This 
island now—you remember the time, Brown, when it 
was laid out in small gardens, and cultivated by frost- 
bitten fags in February and March?” 3 

“Of course I do,” said Tom ; “didn’t I hate spend- 


396 © TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


ing two hours in the afternoons grubbing in the tough 
dirt with the stump of a fives’-bat? But turf-cart was 
good fun enough.” 

“T dare say it was, but it was always leading to 
fights with the townspeople; and then the stealing 
flowers out of all the gardens in Rugby for the Easter 
show was abominable.’ 

“Well, so it was,” said Tom, looking down, “but we 
fags couldn’t help ourselves. But what has that to do 
with the Doctor’s ruling ?” 

“A great deal, I think,’ said the master; “ what ; 
brought island-fagging to an end ?” 

“Why, the Easter speeches were put off till mid- 
summer,” said Tom, “and the sixth had the gymnastic 
poles put up here.” 

“Well, and who changed the time of the speeches, 
and put the idea of gymnastic poles into the heads of 
their worships the sixth form ?” said the master. 

“The Doctor, I suppose,” said Tom. “I never thought 
of that.” 

“Of course you didn’t,” said the master, “or else, 
fag as. you were, you would have shouted with the whole 
school against putting down old customs. And that’s 
the way that all the Doctor's reforms have been carried 
out when he has been left to himself—quietly and nat- 
urally, putting a good thing in the place of a bad, and 
letting the bad die out ; no wavering and no hurry—the 
best thing that could be done for the time being, and pa- 
tience for the rest.” : 


TOM BROWN’S.SCHOOL-DA YS. 397 


“Just Tom’s own way,” chimed in Arthur, nudging 
Tom with his elbow, “ driving a nail where it will go,” to 
which allusion Tom answered by a sly kick. 

“Exactly so,” said the master, innocent of the allusion 
and by-play. i: 

Meantime Jack Raggles, with his sleeves tucked up 
above his great brown elbows, scorning pads and gloves 
has presented himself at the wicket ; having run one for 
a forward drive of Johnson’s, he is about to receive his 
first ball. There are only twenty-four runs to make, and 
four wickets to go down,—a winning match if they play 
decently steady. The ball is a very swift one, and rises 
fast, catching Jack on the outside of the thigh, and 
bounding away as if from india-rubber, while they run 
two for a leg-bye amidst great applause, and shouts from 
Jack’s many admirers. The next ball is a beautifully- 
pitched ball for the outer stump, which the reckless and 
unfeeling Jack catches hold of, and hits right round to 
leg for five, while the applause becomes deafening. Only 
seventeen runs to get with four wickets—the game is all 
but ours ! 

It is over now, and Jack walks swaggering about his 
wicket, with the bat over his shoulder, while Mr. Ais- 
labie holds a short parley with his men. Then the 
cover-point hitter, that cunning man, goes on to bowl | 
slow twisters. Jack waves his hand triumphantly tow- 
ards the tent, as much as to say, “* See if I don’t finish 
it all off now in three hits.” 

Alas! my son Jack! the enemy is too old for thee. 


398 TOM BROWN’S SCH OOL-DA YS. 


The first ball of the over Jack steps out and meets, 
swiping with all his force. If he had only allowed for 
the twist! but he hasn’t, and so the ball goes spinning 
straight up into the air, as if it would never come down 
again. Away runs Jack, shouting and trusting to the 
chapter of accidents; but the bowler runs steadily 
under it, judging every spin, and calling out, “I have it,” 
catches it, and playfully pitches it on to the back of the 
stalwart Jack, who is departing with a rueful counte- 
nance. 

“JT knew how it would be,” says Tom, rising. 
“Come along, the game’s getting very serious.” 

So they leave the island and go to the tent, and, 
after deep consultation, Arthur is sent in, and goes off 
to the wicket with a last exhortation from Tom to play 
steady and keep his bat straight. To the suggestion 
that Winter is the best bat left, Tom only replies, 
“ Arthur is the steadiest, and Onna will make the runs 
if the wicket is only kept up.” 

“Tam surprised to see Arthur in the eleven,” said 
the master, as they stood together in front of the dense 
crowd, which was now closing in round the ground. 

“Well, ’'m not quite sure that he ought to be in for 


vie) 


his play,” said Tom, “but I couldn’t help putting him 
in. It will do him so much good, and you can’t think 
what I owe him.” 

The master smiled. The clock strikes eight, and 
the whole field becomes fevered with excitement. Ar- 


thur, after two narrow escapes, scores. one; and Johnson 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOC. DAYS. 399 


gets the ball. The bowling and fielding are superb, and 
Johnson's batting worthy the occasion. He makes here 
a two, and there a one, managing to keep the ball to 
himself, and Arthur backs up and runs perfectly: only 
eleven runs to make now, and the crowd scarcely breathe. 
At last Arthur gets the ball again, and actually drives 
it forward for two, and feels prouder than when he got 
the three best prizes, at hearing Tom’s shout of joy, 
“Well played, well played, young ’un!” 

But the next ball is too much for a young hand, and 
his bails fly different ways. Nine runs to make, and two 
wickets to go down—it is too much for human nerves. 

Before Winter can get in, the omnibus which is to 
take the Lords’ men to the train pulls up at the side of 
the close, and Mr. Aislabie and Tom consult, and give 
out that the stumps will be drawn after the next over. 
And so ends the great match. Winter and Johnson 
carry out their bats, and, it being a one day’s match, the 
Lords’ men are declared the winners, they having’ scored 
the most in the first innings. 

But such a defeat is a victory: so think Tom and ali 
the school eleven, as they accompany their conquerors 
to the omnibus, and send them off with three ringing 
cheers, after Mr. Aislabie has shaken hands all round, 
saying to Tom, “I must compliment you, sir, on your 
eleven, and I hope we shall have you for a member if 
you come up to town.” 

As. Tom and the rest of the eleven were turning 
back inte the close, and everybody was beginning to cry 


400 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


out for another country-dance, encouraged by the suc 
cess of the night before, the young master, who was just 
leaving the close, stopped him, and asked him to come 
up to tea at half-past eight, adding, “I won’t keep you 
more than half an hour, and ask Arthur to come 
up too.” 

“Tl come up with you directly, if you'll let me,” 
said Tom, “for I feel rather melancholy, and not quite 
up to the country-dance and supper with the rest.” 


) 


“Do by all means,” said the master ; “I'll wait here 
for you.” 

So Tom went off to get his boots and things from 
the tent, to tell Arthur of the invitation, and to speak to 
his second in command about stopping the dancing and 
shutting up the close as soon as it grew dusk. Arthur 
promised to follow as soon as he hada dance. So Tom 
handed his things over to the man in charge of the tent, 
and walked quietly away to the gate where the master 
was waiting, and the two took their way together up the 
Hillmorton road. 

Of course they found the master’s house locked up, 
and all the servants away in the close, about this time 
no doubt footing it away on the grass with extreme 
delight to themselves, and in utter oblivion of the unfor- 
tunate bachelor their master, whose one enjoyment in 
the shape of meals was his “ dish of tea” (as our grand- 
mothers called it) in the evening ; and the phrase was 
apt in his case, for he always poured his out into the 


saucer before drinking. Great was the good man’s hor- 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 401 


ror at finding himself shut out of his own house. Had 
he been alone, he would have treated it as a matter of 
course, and would have strolled contentedly up and down 
his gravel-walk until some one came home ; but he was 
hurt at the stain on his character of host, especially as 
the guest was a pupil. However, the guest seemed to 
think it a great joke, and presently, as they poked about 
round the house, mounted a wall, from which he could 
reach a passage window : the window, as it turned out, 
was not bolted, so in another minute Tom was in the 
house and down at the front door, which he opened from 
inside. The master chuckled grimly at this burglarious 
entry, and insisted on leaving the hall-door and two of 
the front windows open, to frighten the truants on their 
return; and then the two set about foraging for tea, in 
which operation the master ‘was much at fault, having 
the faintest possible idea of where to find anything, and 
being, moreover, wondrously short-sighted ; but Tom 
by a sort of instinct knew the right cupboards in the 
kitchen and pantry, and soon managed to place on the 
snuggery table better materials for a meal than had 
appeared there probably during the reign of his tutor, 
who was then and there initiated, amongst other things, 
into the excellence of that mysterious condiment, a 
dripping-cake. The cake was newly baked, and all rich 
and flaky; Tom had found it reposing in the cook’s 
private cupboard, awaiting her return ; and as a warn- 
ing to her, they finished it to the last crumb. The ket- 
tle sang away merrily on the hob of the snuggery, for, 


402 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


notwithstanding the time of year, they lighted a fire, 
throwing both the windows wide open at the same time; 
the heap of books and papers were pushed away to the 
other end of the table, and the great solitary engraving 
of King’s College Chapel over the mantelpiece looked 
less stiff than usual, as they settled themselves down in 
the twilight to the serious drinking of tea. 

After some talk on the match, and other different 
subjects, the conversation came naturally back to Tom’s 
approaching departure, over which he began again to 
make his moan. 

“Well, we shall all miss you quite as much as you 
will miss us,” said the master. ‘“ You are the Nestor of 
the school now, are you not?” 

“Ves, ever since East left,’ answered Tom. 

“ By the bye, have you heard from him ?” 

‘Yes, I had a letter in February, just before he 
started for India to join his regiment.” 

“ He will make a capital officer.” 

“Ay, won't he!” said Tom, brightening ; “no fel- 
low could handle boys better, and I suppose soldiers are 
very like boys. And he'll never tell them to go where 
he won't go himself. No mistake about that—a braver 
fellow never walked.” | 

“ His year in the sixth will have taught him a good 
deal that will be useful to him now.” 

“So it will,’ said Tom, staring into the fire. _ “ Poor, 
dear Harry,” he went on, “how well I remember the 


day we were put out of the twenty. How he rose to 


TOM BROWN'S SCHVUOL-DA YS. 403 


the.situation, and burned his cigar-cases, and gave away 
his pistols, and pondered on the constitutional authority 
of the sixth, and his new duties to the Doctor, and the 
fifth form, and the fags. Ay, and no fellow ever acted 
up to them better, though he was always a people’s man 
—for the fags, and against constituted authorities. He 
couldn’t help that, you know. I’m sure the Doctor 
must have liked him?” said Tom, looking up inquir- 
ingly. 

“ The Doctor sees the good in every one, and appre- 
ciates it,” said the master, dogmatically ; “but I hope 
East will get a good colonel. He won’t do if he can't 
respect those above him. How long it took him even 
here to learn the lesson of obeying.” 

“Well, I wish I were alongside of him,” said Tom. 
“Tf I can’t be at. Rugby, I want to be at work in the 
world, and not dawdling away three years at Oxford.” 

“What do you mean by ‘at work in the world?’” 
said the master, pausing, with his lips close to his 
saucerful of tea, and peering at Tom over it. 

“Well, I mean real work—one’s profession ; what- 
ever one will have really to do, and make one’s living 
by. I want to be doing some real good, feeling that I 
am not only at play in the world,” answered Tom, rather 
puzzled to find out himself what he really did mean. 

“You are mixing up two very different things in 
your head, I think, Brown,” said the master, putting down 
the empty saucer, “and you ought to get clear about 
them, You talk of ‘working to get your living’ and 


404 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


‘doing some real good in the world’ in the same breath. 
Now, you may be getting a very good living in a profes- 
sion and yet doing no good at all in the world, but quite 
the contrary, at the same time. _ Keep the latter before 
you as your one object, and you will be right, whether 
you make a living or not ; but-if you dwell on the other, 
you ll very likely drop into mere money-making, and let 
the world take care of itself for good or evil. Don’t be 
in a hurry about finding your work in the world for your-. 
self; you are not old enough to judge for yourself yet, 
but just look about you in the place you find yourself in, 
and try to make things a little better and honester there. 
You'll find plenty to keep your hand in at Oxford, or 
wherever else you go. And don’t be led away to think 
this part of the world important and that unimportant. 
Every corner of the world is important. No man knows 
whether this part or that is most so, but every man may 
do some honest work in his own corner.’ And then the 
good man went on to talk wisely to Tom of the sort of 
work which he might take up as an undergraduate, 
warned him of the prevalent university sins, and ex- 
plained to him the many and great differences between 
university and school life, till the twilight changed into 
darkness, and they heard the truant servant stealing in 
by the back entrance. | 
“I wonder where Arthur can be,”. said Tom at last, 
looking at his watch ; “why, it’s nearly half-past nine 
already.” , 
“Qh, he is comfortably at supper with the eleven, for- 


TOM BROWN’'S SCHOOL-DAYS. 405 


getful of his oldest friends,” said the master. “ Nothing 
has given me greater pleasure,’ he went on, “ than your 
friendship for him ; it has been the making of you both.” 

“Of me, at any rate,’ answered Tom; “I should 
never have been here now but for him. It was the luckiest 
chance in the world that sent him to Rugby, and made 
him my chum.” 

“Why to you talk of lucky chances?” said the mas- 
ter ; “I don’t know that there are any such things in 
the world; at any rate there was neither luck nor chance 
in that matter.” 

Tom looked at him inquiringly, and he went on. “ Do 
you remember when the Joctor lectured you and East 
at the end of one half-year, when you were in the shell, 
and had been getting into all sorts of scrapes?” 

“Yes, well enough,’ said Tom; “it was the half- 
year before Arthur came.” 

“Exactly so,” answered the master. “ Now, I was 
with him a few minutes afterwards, and he was in great 
distress about you two. And, after some talk, we both 
agreed that you in particular wanted some object in the 
school beyond games and mischief ; for it was quite clear 
that you never would make the regular school work your 
first object. And so the Doctor, at the beginning of the 
next half-year, looked out the best of the new boys, and 
separated you and East, and put the young boy into your 
study, in the hope that when you had somebody to lean 
on you, vou would begin to stand a little steadier your- 


self, and get manliness and thoughtfulness. And I can. 


406 ' TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


assure you he has watched the experiment ever since 
with great satisfaction. Ah! not one of you boys will 
ever know the anxiety you have given him, or the care 
with which he has watched over every step in your scnool 
lives.” 

Up to this time, Tom had never wholly given in to 
or understood the Doctor. At first he had thoroughly 
feared him. For some years, as I have tried to show, he 
had learned to regard him with love and respect, and to 
think him a very great and wise and goodman. But, as 
regarded his own position in the school, of which he wa 
no little proud, Tom had no idea of giving any one credit 
for it but himself, and, truth to tell, was a very self-con- 
ceited young gentleman on the subject. He was wont 
to boast that he had fought his own way fairly up the 
school, and had never made up to or been taken up by 
any big fellow or master, and that it was now quite a 
different place from what it was when he first came. 
And, indeed, though he didn’t actually boast of it, in his 
secret soul he did to a great extent believe that the 
great reform of the school had been owing quite as much 
to himself as to any one else. Arthur, he acknowledged, 
had done him good, and taught him a good deal, so had 
other boys in different ways, but they had not had the 
same means of influence on the school in general; and 
as for the Doctor, why, he was a splendid master, but 
every one knew that masters could do very little out of 
school hours. In short, he felt on terms of equality with 
his chief, so far as the social state of the school was con- 


° TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 407 


cerned, and thought that the Doctor would find it no 
easy matter to get on without him. Moreover, his 
school toryism was still strong, and he looked still with 
some jealousy on the Doctor, as somewhat of a fanatic 
in the matter of change, and thought it very desirable 
for the school that he should have some wise person 
(such as himself) to look sharply after vested school- 
rights, and see that nothing was done to the injury of 
the republic without due protest. 

It was a new light to him to find that, besides teach- 
ing the sixth, and governing and guiding the whole 
school, editing classics, and writing histories, the great 
head-master had found time in those busy years to watch 
over the career even of him, Tom Brown, and his partic- 
ular friends,—and, no doubt, of fifty other boys at the 
same time ; and all this without taking the least credit 
to himself, or of seeming to know, or let any one else 
know, that he ever thought particularly of any boy at all. 

However, the Doctor’s victory was complete from 
that moment over Tom Brown at any rate. He gave 
way at all points, and the enemy marched right over him, 
cavalry, infantry and artillery, the land transport corps, 
and the camp followers. It had taken eight long years 
to do it, but now it was done thoroughly, and there 
wasn’t a corner of him left which didn’t believe in the 
Doctor. Had he returned to school again, and the Doc- 
tor begun the half-year by abolishing fagging, and foot- 
ball, and the Saturday half-holiday, or all or any of the 
most cherished school institutions, Tom would have sup- 


408 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. ‘ 


ported him with the blindest faith. And so, after a half 
confession of his previous shortcomings, and sorrowful 
adieus to his tutor, from whom he received two beauti- 
fully-bound volumes of the Doctor’s sermons, as a parting 
present, he marched down to the school-house, a hero- 
worshiper who would have satisfied the soul of Thomas 
Carlyle himself. 

There he found the eleven at high jinks after supper, 
Jack Raggles shouting comic songs, and performing 
feats of strength; he was greeted by a chorus of 
mingled remonstrance at his desertion and joy at his re- 
appearance. Falling in with the humor of the evening, 
he was soon as great a boy as all the rest ; and at ten 
o'clock was chaired round the quadrangle, on one of the 
hall benches borne aloft by the eleven, shouting in 
chorus, “ For he’s a jolly good fellow,” while old Thomas, 
in a melting mood, and the other school-house servants, 
stood looking on. 

And the next morning after breakfast he squared up 
all the cricketing accounts, went round to his tradesmen 
and other acquaintance, and said his hearty good-byes ; 
and by twelve o'clock was in the train, and away for 
London, no longer a school-boy, and divided in his 
thoughts, between hero-worship, honest regrets over the 
long stage of his life which was now slipping out of sight 
behind him, and hopes and resolves for the next stage 
upon which he was entering with all the confidence of a 
young traveller. 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 409 


CHAPTER XI. 


FINIS. 


“ Strange friend, past, present, and to be ; 
Loved deeplier, darklier understood ; 
Behold, I dream a dream of good, 

And mingle all the world with thee.” 
TENNYSON. 

In the summer of 1842, our hero stopped once again 
at the well-known station, and leaving his bag and fish- 
ing-rod with a porter, walked slowly and sadly up to- 
wards the town. It was now July. He had rushed away 
from Oxford the moment that term was over, for a fish- 
ing ramble in Scotland with two college friends, and had 
been for three weeks living on oat-cake, mutton-hams 
and whisky, in the wildest parts of Skye. They had de- 
scended one sultry evening on the little inn at Kyle Rhea 
ferry, and while Tom and another of the party put their 
tackle together and began exploring the stream fora 
sea-trout for supper, the third strolled into the house to 
arrange for their entertainment. Presently he came out 
in a loose blouse and slippers, a short pipe in his mouth, 
and an old newspaper in his hand, and threw himself on 
the heathery scrub which met the shingle, within easy 
hail of the fishermen. There he lay, the picture of free- 
and-easy, loafing, hand-to-mouth young England, “im- 
proving his mind,” as he shouted to them, by the perusal 


410 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 

of the fortnight-old weekly paper, soiled with the marks 
of toddy-glasses and tobacco-ashes, the legacy of the last 
traveller, which he had hunted out from the kitchen of 
the little hostelry, and being a youth of a communicative 
turn of mind, began imparting the contents to the fisher- 
men as he went on. 

‘What a bother they are making about these 
wretched Corn-laws ; here’s three ‘or four columns full 
of nothing but sliding-scales and fixed duties. Hang 
this tobacco, it’s always going out! Ah, here’s some- 
thing better—a splendid match between Kent and Eng- 
land, Brown! Kent winning by three wickets. Felix 
fifty-six runs without a chance, and not out!” 

Tom, intent on a fish which had risen at him twice, 
answered only with a grunt. 

“ Anything about the Goodwood?” called out the 
third man. 

“Rory O’More drawn. Butterfly colt amiss,” shouted 
the student. 

“Just my luck,’ grumbled the inquirer, jerking his 
flies off the water, and throwing again with a heavy, 
sullen splash, and frightening Tom’s fish. 

“T say, can’t you throw lighter over there? we ain’t 
fishing for grampuses,” shouted Tom across the stream. 

“Hullo, Brown! here’s something for you,” called 
out the reading man next moment. “Why, your old 
master, Arnold of Rugby, is dead.” 

Tom’s hand stopped half-way in his cast, and his lines 
and flies went all tangling round and round his rod ; you 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 4it 


might have knocked him over witha feather. Neither 
of his companions took any notice of him, luckily ; and 
with a violent effort he set to work mechanically to dis- 
entangle his line. He felt completely: carried off his 
moral and intellectual legs,as if he had lost his standing 
point in the invisible world. Besides which, the deep 
loving loyalty which he felt for his old leader made 
the shock intensely painful. It was the first great 
wrench of his life, the first gap which the angel Death 
had made in his circle, and he felt numbed, and beaten 
down, and spiritless. Well, well! I believe it was good 
for him, and for many others in like case, who had to- 
learn by that loss that the soul of man cannot stand or 
lean upon any human prop, however strong, and wise, and 
good; but that He upon whom alone it can stand and 
fean will knock away all such props in his own wise and 
merciful way, until there is no ground or stay left but 
Himself, the Rock of Ages, upon whom alone a sure 
foundation for every soul of man is laid. 

As he wearily labored at his line, the thought struck 
him, “ It may all be false, a mere newspaper lie,” and he 
strode up to the recumbent smoker. 

“Let me look at the paper,” said he. 

“Nothing else in it,” answered the other, handing it 
up to him listlessly—“ Hullo, Brown! what's the matter, 
old fellow—ain’t you well?” 

“ Where is it,” said Tom, turning over the leaves, his 
hands trembling, and his eyes swimming, so that he 
could not read. 


412 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DAYS. 


“What ? What are you looking for?” said his 
friend, jumping up and looking over his shoulder. 

“ That-—about Arnold,” said Tom. 

“Qh, here,”- said the other, putting his finger on the 
paragraph. Tom read it over and over again; there 
could be no mistake of identity, though the account was 
short enough. 

“Thank you,” said he at last, dropping the paper, “T 
shall go for a walk: don’t you and Herbert wait supper 
for me.” And away he strode, up over the moor at the 
back of the house, to be alone, and master his grief if 
possible. 

His friend looked after him, sympathizing and 
wondering, and, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, 
walked over to Herbert. After a short parley, they 
walked together up to the house. 

“Tm afraid that confounded newspaper has spoiled 
Brown’s fun for this trip.” 

“How odd that he: should be so fond of his old 
master,” said Herbert. Yet they also were both public- 
school men. 

The two, however, notwithstanding Tom’s prohibi- 
tion, waited supper for him, and had everything ready 
when he came back some half an hour afterwards. But 
he could not join in their cheerful talk, and the party 
was soon silent, notwithstanding the efforts of all three. 
One thing only had Tom resolved, and that was, that he 
couldn’t stay in Scotland any longer; he felt an ir- 
resistible longing to get to Rugby, and then home, and 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 413 


soon broke it to the others, who had too much tact to 
oppose. 

So by daylight the next morning he was marching 
through Ross-shire, and in the evening hit the Caledonian 
canal, took the next steamer, and travelled as fast as 
boat and railway could carry him to the Rugby station. 

As he walked up to the town, he felt shy and afraid 
of being seen, and-took the back streets; why, he didn’t 
know, but he followed his instinct. At the school-gates 
he made a dead pause ; there was not a soul in the quad- 
rangle—all was lonely, and silent, and sad. So with an- 
other effort he strode through the quadrangle, and into 
the school-house offices. 

He found the little matron in her room in deep” 
mourning ; shook her hand, tried to talk, and moved 
nervously about. She was evidently thinking of the 
same subject as he, but he couldn’t begin talking. 

“Where shall I find Thomas?” said he at last, get- 
ting desperate. 

“In the servants’ hall, I think, sir. But won’t you 
take anything?” said the matron, looking rather dis- 
appointed. | 

“No, thank you,” said he, and strode off again, to 
find the old verger, who was sitting in his little den as 
of old, puzzling over hieroglyphics. 

He looked up through his spectacles, as Tom seized 
his hand and wrung it. 

“ Ah! you've heard all about it, sir, I see,” said he. 

Tom nodded, and then sat down on the shoe-board, 


414 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS, 


while the old man told his tale, and wiped his spectacles, 
and fairly flowed over with quaint, homely, honest sorrow. 

By the time he had done, Tom felt much better. 

“ Where is he buried, Thomas?”’ said he at last. 

“Under the altar in the chapel, sir,” answered 
Thomas. “ You'd like to have the key, I dare say.” 

“Thank you, Thomas.—Yes, I should very much.” 
And the old man fumbled among his bunch, and then 
got up, as though he would go with him, but after a few 
steps, stopped short, and said, “ Perhaps you'd like to go 
by yourself, sir ?”’ 

Tom nodded, and the bunch of keys were handed to 
him, with an injunction to be sure and lock the door 
after him, and bring them back before eight o'clock. 

He walked quickly through the quadrangle and out 
into the close. The longing which had been upon him and 
driven him thus far, like the gad-fly in the Greek legends, 
giving him no rest in mind or body, seemed all of a.sud- 
den not to be satished, but to shrivel up, and pall. 
“Why should I go on? It’s no use,’ he thought, and 
threw himself at full length on the turf, and looked 
vaguely and listlessly at all the well-known objects. 
There were a few of the town boys playing cricket, their 
wicket pitched on the best piece in the middle of the 
big-side ground—a sin about equal to a sacrilege in the 
eyes of the captain of the eleven. He was very nearly 
getting up to go and send them off. ‘“ Pshaw! they 
won't remember me. They’ve more right there than I,” 
he muttered, And the thought that his sceptre had de- 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 415 


parted, and his mark was wearing out, came home to 
him for the first time, and bitterly enough. He was 
lying on the very spot where the fights came off ; where 
he himself had fought six years ago his first and last 
battle. He conjured up the scene till he could almost 
hear the shouts of the ring, and East’s whisper in his 
ear; and looking across the close to the Doctor’s private 
door, half expected it to open, and the tall figure in cap 
and gown come striding under the elm trees towards him. 

No, no! that sight could never be seen again. There 
was no flag flying on the round tower ; the school-house 
windows were all shuttered up; and when the flag went 
up again, and the shutters came down, it would be to 
welcome a stranger. A\ll that was left on earth of him 
whom he had honored was lying cold and still under the 
chapel floor. He would go in and see the place once> 
more, and then leave it once for all. New men and new 
methods might do for other people ; let those who would 
worship the rising star; he, at least, would be faithful to 
the sun which had set. And so he got up, and walked 
to the chapel door and unlocked it, fancying himself the 
only mourner in all the broad land, and feeding on his 
own selfish sorrow. ; 

He passed through the vestibule, and then paused 
for a moment to glance over the empty benches. His 
heart was still proud and high, and he walked up to the 
seat which he had last occupied as a sixth-form boy, and 
sat himself down there to collect his thoughts. 


And, truth to tell, they needed collecting and setting 


416 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


in order not a little. The memories of eight years were 
all dancing through his brain, and carrying him about 
whither they would, while beneath them all his heart 
was throbbing with the dull sense of a loss that could 
never be made up to him. The rays of the evening sun 
came solemnly through the painted windews above his 
head, and fell in gorgeous colors on the opposite wall, 
and the perfect stillness soothed his spirit little by little. 
And he turned to the pulpit, and looked at it, and then, 
leaning forward with his head on his hands, groaned | 
aloud. “If he could only have seen the Doctor again 
for one five minutes; have told him all that was in his 
heart, what he owed to him, how he loved and rever- 
enced him, and would, by God’s help, follow his steps in 
life and death, he could have borne it all without a mur- 
mur. But that he should have gone away forever with- 
out knowing it all, was too much to bear.” —‘“‘ But am I 
sure he does not know it all?” The thought made him 
start. ‘“ May he not even now be near me, in this very 
chapel? If he be, am I sorrowing as he would have me 
sorrow—as I should wish to have sorrowed when I shall 
meet him again ?” . 

He raised himself up and looked round, and after a 
minute rose and walked humbly down to the lowest 
bench, and sat down on the very seat which he had occu- 
pied on his first Sunday at Rugby. And then the old 
memories rushed back again, but softened and subdued, 
and soothing him as he let himself be carried away by 
them. And he looked up at the great painted window 


TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 417 


above the altar, and remembered how when a little boy 
he used to try not to look through it at the elm-trees and 
the rooks, before the painted glass came, and the sub- 
scription for the painted glass, and the letter he wrote 
home for money to give to it. And there, down below, 
was the very name of the boy who sat on his right hand 
on that first day, scratched rudely on the oak panelling. 

And then came the thought of all his old schoolfel- 
lows, and form after form of boys, nobler, and braver, 
and purer than he, rose up and seemed to rebuke him. 
Could he not think of them, and what they had felt 
and were feeling, they who had honored and loved from 
the first the man whom he had taken years to know and 
love? Could he not think of those yet dearer to him 
who was gone, who bore his name and shared his blood, 
and were now without a husband ora father? Then the 
grief which he began to share with others became gentle 
and holy, and he rose up once more, and walked up the 
steps to the altar; and while the tears flowed freely 
down his cheeks, knelt down humbly and hopefully, to 
lay down there his share of the burden which had proved 
itself too heavy for him to bear in his own strength. 

Here let us leave him—where better could we leave 
him, than at the altar, before which he had first caught 
a glimpse of the glory of his birthright, and felt the 
drawing of the bond which links all living souls together 
in one brotherhood——at the grave beneath the altar of 
him who had opened his eyes to see that glory, and 
softened his heart till it could feel that bond ? 

27 


418 TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL-DA YS. 


And let us not be hard on him if at that moment his. 
soul is fuller of the tomb, and him who lies there, than 
of the altar and Him of whom it speaks. Such stages 
have to be gone through, I believe, by all young and 
brave souls, who must win their way through hero- 
worship to the worship of Him who is the King and 
Lord of heroes. For it is only through our mysterious 
human relationships, through the love and tenderness 
and purity of mothers, and sisters, and wives, through 
the strength, and courage, and wisdom of fathers, and 
brothers, and teachers, that we can come to the knowl- 
edge of Him in whom alone the love, and the tender- 
ness, and the purity, and the strength, and the courage, 
and the wisdom of all these dwell forever and ever in 
perfect fulness. ; 


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